


Comfort and Joy

by OlwenDylluan, Quilly



Series: Quodlibets [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Kid Fic, Other, Seasonal fic, Snakes, coparenting is hard, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents, holiday fic, ineffable kids, parenting is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21511765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: It's the first Christmas in the Fell-Crowley household, and Crowley is determined that everything will be perfect for both Aziraphale and the snek!babies. But nothing is ever that easy...***Salutations, Wiggleverse!Quillyand I have a holiday gift for you! Twice weekly, starting today, we are posting chapters of a seasonally themed round-robin fic we are writing, set in the Fell-Crowley household. We’re taking turns with the chapters, and we don’t know what the other is going to write before it’s finished. The last chapter will be posted for Christmas Eve.Expect new chapters around Tuesdays and Thursdays, barring life getting in the way.We hope you enjoy it.<3 OlwenDylluan and Quilly
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Quodlibets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589863
Comments: 428
Kudos: 455
Collections: Wiggleverse





	1. Chapter 1

Early November was always a somber time for Aziraphale and Crowley. Remembrance Day stirred dark memories in each, not just for the Great War and the one that should never have followed it, but for all the wars they had been in, on earth and elsewhere. It was a time during which Crowley used to vanish, only to reappear in mid-November as if everything was absolutely fine. Aziraphale drank alone for too many eleventh days of those eleventh months, silently lifting his glass to generations of men and women who had made the ultimate sacrifice.

In more recent years Crowley had begun to share the day with him, often sullen, bitter, his soul twisting in anger and pain. But at least he was allowing Aziraphale to see it, which was far and away better than the alternative.

This year, poppies had shown up in the fields around the cottage overnight. Aziraphale didn't say anything, and neither did Crowley. But that night, he held the demon as he sobbed in anguish for people he’d known and lost throughout the millennia.

The next week, Crowley walked into the house with his arms heaped with pine and juniper, whistling. Aziraphale put his book down on his lap and stared at the demon as he passed him and dropped the greenery in an untidy pile on the hearth.

“What is this?” Aziraphale said.

“Angel,” said Crowley. “Really?”

Aziraphale huffed a sigh.

“Why have you dragged conifer boughs into the house, dear?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and turned back to the mantel, beginning to move the photos and trinkets to make room. It dawned on Aziraphale as the demon bent to pick up a branch of pine, fitting it behind candles and a statuette of Apollo and Daphne.

“Crowley, no,” he protested. ”Dear boy, we’ve _six weeks_ to go.”

“It's for the children, angel,” Crowley said as virtuously as he could.

“You scoundrel,” Aziraphale said. “Don’t use them as an excuse.”

“M’not.” Crowley wove the boughs around the mantel decorations. “And it’s not six weeks. Saint Nicholas Day is on the sixth.”

Aziraphale sighed and took off his glasses.

“And Advent begins on the first this year,” Crowley added. “That’s only two weeks from now. Practically a blink.”

Aziraphale regarded his partner, who was poking at the photo frames to adjust them just so among the greenery.

“It _is_ their first Christmas,” he allowed.

“It’s _our_ first Christmas,” Crowley said casually. Aziraphale furrowed his brow.

“Dear boy, we’ve been--”

“Together, I mean. In this house,” he added carelessly, as if to cover the poignance of the first half of his reply.

Aziraphale found himself smiling. He put down his book and glasses, rose, and moved to stand next to Crowley, slipping an arm around his waist.

“Right, then,” he said. “We’ve got some planning to do, then, haven’t we.”

  
  


“It smells like a forest in here,” Junior said, stopping when he came into the house for dinner. Two siblings crashed into him from behind, and there was an indignant muddle of sound.

 _There IS a forest in here!_ Clem said, zipping past the tangle of legs and rapidly tasting the air. _It’s coming from the living room!_

“Hands,” Crowley ordered.

“Why is there a forest?” Junior demanded. Angelica pushed past him, rolling her eyes, and went to the kitchen sink to scrub her hands clean from their play session outdoors.

“ _Hands_ ,” Crowley repeated. “Wash now, talk later, spawn.”

Datura grabbed Junior’s arm and pulled him to the sink.

“Rosa,” Crowley called. “Aziraphale, go unearth your bookwyrm from wherever she’s ensconced herself. Your study, her room, who knows where she’s wedged herself this time.”

When everyone was around the table and supper had been portioned out, Junior took an enormous mouthful, swallowed as quickly as he could and said, “ _Now_ can we know--”

“Tradition,” Crowley said. “One leaf does not constitute a serving of salad, Junior. Put a proper amount on your plate, please.”

Rosa put a good pile on her brother’s plate as he said, “But _why--_ ”

“Tradition,” Aziraphale said, dabbing his napkin to his lips. “Greenery inside when the world loses colour and life outdoors symbolizes life continuing during the dead of winter.”

“But it isn’t winter,” Junior argued.

“It will be,” Angelica pointed out.

“Why bring it inside if the pine trees are still alive outside?” Datura wanted to know. “They’re alive there all year round.”

“Excellent question.” Crowley tossed Datura a dinner roll as if it were a prize. “That’s why we use them as a symbol of life. In winter, when the weather is bad, people are stuck inside. They often can't get out for a stroll to appreciate nature. Crops are done for the season and the ground is frozen, so we can’t grow anything. Evergreens are the only thing to remind us that even though it doesn’t look like it, life carries on while the earth sleeps.”

Rosa looked up. “Will it get that bad?” she asked.

“Plenty of opportunity to stay inside and read.” Aziraphale smiled at her.

“Weather is unpredictable,” Crowley shrugged. “You’ve only known summer and early autumn. Meteorological patterns have been shifting these past few years. Been bitter cold at times.”

“The earth is non-sentient and not a living thing,” said Datura. “It technically can’t sleep.”

“It’s a mettle four,” Angelica informed them. They rolled their eyes at each other.

 _Bitter cold?_ Clem said from Datura’s lap. The children exchanged glances, the reality of Clem’s question finally dawning on them. Crowley paused and looked at Aziraphale.

“We’ll keep the house lovely and warm,” Aziraphale promised. “We’ll have the fire on all the time, and extra blankets, and the heat lamps can be on as much as you like. Perhaps one of your siblings will let you borrow theirs to supplement your own.”

“I’ll teach you all the tricks,” Crowley said. “No worries, spawn.”

“Don’t worry, Clem,” Junior said, piling as much salad on his fork as he could. “We’ll snuggle.”

The next day, Crowley dragooned Junior into winding more boughs into a wreath shape for the front door. Datura and Rosa sat nearby making bows out of white and red ribbons.

“Does everyone do this?” Junior asked skeptically.

“Sure,” Crowley said. “To various degrees. And in different ways.”

“This sounds dreadfully confusing,” Rosa said. “Conifers inside, ribbons. I’m not sure I entirely understand.”

“Right,” Crowley said, twisting florist wire around the last bough that Junior held in place. “It’s a season. It’s a time of year when many cultures celebrate things. The main reason is because of the winter solstice, which is when--”

“It’s the shortest day and longest night,” Datura said. Crowley pointed at them.

“Got it in one, spawn. Humans tend to worry when the sun looks like it’s fading away day by day. Makes them wonder if it will keep fading till there’s nothing but darkness forever.”

“That’s impossible,” Datura began, “because orbit and axial tilt mean that--”

Crowley waved his hand.

“That’s science, spawn. Early humans didn’t have that. They had terror because the Light Was Going and the Dark Was Coming. So they came up with things to take their mind off it, and a lot of it has to do with celebrating light, funnily enough.”

“We decorate with ribbons and conifers because of light?” Rosa said. If she had spectacles, she’d be looking over the rims at him, Crowley thought.

“Light, warmth, and cheering themselves up. So visiting, and lots of food, and sharing with people less fortunate.”

“What do they call it?” asked Junior. Crowley stared at him for a moment. Had they not told them, somehow?

“Christmas,” he said at last. “Mostly. Now, anyway. But there’s a pack of issues bound up in that name. It’s not the only festival in the season, not by a long shot, but the most common name here, anyhow. The name comes from a Christian religious ceremony, but lots of people celebrate a secular version, and that’s fine, too. Let’s wire those bows on the wreath and go hang it on the door, yeah?”

“It’s your turn,” Crowley said to Aziraphale that night after the children were asleep. “They keep asking why and what, and while that delights me to my core, I don’t want to do this wrong.”

“You can’t do this wrong, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, amused. “You care too much.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m worried I’ll muck it up.” He sighed and folded his hands behind his head, staring up at the bedroom ceiling. “Dunno what the girls will bring home from school about it, either. Are we going to have to rush into it all before that happens, or deal with the oddness of the info as it comes?”

“Well, let’s organize things for them to do to get them thinking about it,” Aziraphale suggested. “Like--oh, presents! Choosing gifts is always a lovely tradition. Thinking of the perfect thing for someone shows how much you appreciate them. Presents for everyone would be overwhelming; it’s their first Christmas, after all, so we should start slowly to ease them into it. Perhaps we could put their names in a hat and they could each draw one?”

“Trust you to think of presents, angel,” Crowley muttered, but his voice had a fond tone to it. He sighed again. “I’m out of practice. Christmas with Warlock was all about mitigating the commercialism of his family’s approach. I need to dredge up what I did with him.”

“The way we made Christmas with Warlock was lovely. I wish he could be here,” Aziraphale said. “And Adam, too. It would do the children good to have older cousins.”

“Mmm.” Crowley didn’t say anything more, but Aziraphale was satisfied that the seed had been planted for future harvesting.

“Well,” he said encouragingly, “you’ve already started the children on decorating. You and Warlock used to do all kinds of crafty things to put up around his playroom at Christmas.”

“Yeah.” Crowley stared at the ceiling some more, and then the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “We’ll do paper chains and cut snowflakes from folded paper next.”

Aziraphale smiled and opened his book again. Crowley needed to be busy, and preparing for Christmas with the children was an excellent idea.

“You’re still up next for the questions,” Crowley mumbled, his eyes closed.

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale murmured.

After dinner on the evening of the first of December, Aziraphale set up five pillar candles along the mantel, nestled into the greenery Crowley had piled there before. The first four were white, and the last was red.

 _What are those, Azirafather?_ Angelica asked from where she was draped along the back of the sofa. The other children looked up from whatever they were doing.

“Advent candles, my darling,” Aziraphale replied. He struck a match and lit the first one in the line. “We light one each week for four weeks, then light the last one on Christmas. It’s a way to count down. Time is very important in this festival, as is the motif of light in the darkness. Each candle we light is one more light against the gathering dark.”

“Why Christmas, though?” Datura said. “The solstice is when the lights starts to grow again.” 

“Ah. Well, the solstice was very important event. So when the Christian church decided to mark the birth of Christ, they chose the solstice to represent it. Christians call Christ the Light of the World. It’s symbolic, you see.”

 _I like candles,_ said Clem contentedly.

“Me too,” Junior said, stretching out on the floor in front of the hearth so Clem could curl up on top of him.

“What do you mean, chose the solstice? Why don’t they use his real birthday?” Rosa said.

Crowley snorted from where he lay on the sofa.

“Because,” Aziraphale said, ignoring Crowley, “March or June just doesn’t have the same poetic energy that the longest night has. The twenty-fifth of December was chosen as the date for the celebration in 340 CE.”

“Good old Pope Julius the first,” Crowley said. “And now scads of people get offended that their not-actual-birthday festival isn’t the sole reason people celebrate around then.”

“Secular Christmas is a real thing,” Aziraphale explained to the children. “And that is perfectly lovely for people who celebrate that way.”

“Is our Christmas secular? Or it it celebrating the unbirthday?” Datura pressed.

On the sofa, Crowley lifted a hand and lazily twirled it in the air, stopping with his finger pointed at Aziraphale.

“Stop that, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He pulled a wingback chair closer and sat down, sighing. “My dears, we have seen so much happen in the world. How people express their beliefs and honour their concepts of God is up to them. There’s no single way to do it. Goodness knows we respect Yeshua--”

“Good man,” Crowley said. “He didn’t deserve what he got.”

“--and it is nice to have a day to remember him and the hope he brought to the people who were inspired by him through the ages. But people were celebrating things long before he was born. ”

 _Does that mean… no, I don’t know what that means at all,_ Angelica said. _Azirafather, we don’t understand._

“My dears,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward and smiling at them. “All your hearts need to know is that this season is about comfort and joy. We celebrate fellowship, and light, and love. And that is an important element of every religious path.”

“Mulled wine,” murmured Crowley, running the back of a finger along Angelica’s scales. “Gingerbread. Shortbread. Roast goose. That’s what the season’s about, angel.”

“Those, too,” Aziraphale agreed happily. “So my darlings, we have twenty-four days until Christmas Day. Are you ready?”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quilly here! Welcome to Chapter Two! Hope it treats you right, and thanks so much for all the comments, it really makes this little niche community of ours feel that much more warm and snuggly <3 Tune back in Thursday for OlwenDylluan's next installment!

Aziraphale had them draw from a hat soon after, his face aglow with excitement.

“What is this for, Azirafather?” Rosa asked as Aziraphale tossed the folded bits of papers with the children’s names written on them in a wide-brimmed black hat that had hung around the bookshop for ages and just sort of…followed him home.

“This is something called a gift exchange,” Aziraphale told his five wide-eyed children. “One of the things about this season is that many cultures engage in the giving and receiving of gifts. I always thought it was rather lovely, and it’s a huge part of Christmas in particular, so I thought it would be nice to have you all draw names and to have you get or make gifts for the sibling you draw. No telling, and if you draw your own name, put it back and draw again. Is that clear?”

“So we draw a name,” Datura said, “and we get a present for whoever we draw?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Aziraphale nodded. “Who wants to start?”

“I do!” Junior elbowed his way to the front of the queue (with a stern look from Aziraphale to quell the more violent edge of his excitement) and stuck his hand in the hat, fishing around for longer than strictly necessary before drawing out a name.

“Remember to keep it secret!” Aziraphale cried as Junior scuttled away from his siblings to read the name. “It’s better if it’s a surprise when we open them on Christmas morning.”

One by one the children drew names until the hat was empty, and Aziraphale stored it back on the top of its shelf as they had various reactions to the names presented. Clem approached with his slip of paper still clamped in his mouth.

_Azirafather, can you help me?_ Clem asked, and Aziraphale lifted Clem to his desk to do just that. Clem read the name, then flicked his tongue thoughtfully. _Thank you._

“Not at all,” Aziraphale said, and when all the children had run out of the study, he waited several moments before reaching into a drawer of his desk and unearthing his knitting basket. He’d found the most darling pattern for snake sweaters on the internet, and it was their first winter, after all. He was contemplating a massive one for Crowley, but that one might take some miracle work. He pulled out his current project, a lovely powder pink sweater made with Merino wool yarn, and hummed under his breath as his needles clicked away.

_Father?_ Clem asked, and Crowley snorted himself awake, dislodging himself from the couch and almost falling, the magazine he’d had propped over his face knocking his glasses askew.

“Buh? Yes, I’m—what?”

_Father,_ Clem repeated, amused, _I was wondering if I could have your help today._

“My help?” Crowley sat up. There was the sound of running feet upstairs, and giggling, so nothing too terrible could be happening. “What for, spawn?”

_Azirafather said we’re doing a gift exchange,_ Clem said, slithering up on Crowley’s chest. He looked left and right before leaning his face in closely. _I got Rosa._

“Alright,” Crowley said, still failing to see how this involved him.

_Rosa likes…she likes human things,_ Clem said, shifting his thick coils in a self-conscious sort of way. He was going to be enormous, once he stopped growing. Crowley was already struggling a little with all that weight directly on his chest. _I want to get her something nice, but I can’t do it…like this._ Clem sighed and flicked his tongue out, accidentally catching the tip of Crowley’s nose. _I think I need to be person-shaped, if I’m going to do it right, and I have to visit a store._

“A store,” Crowley said, thinking. “What kind of store?”

_I don’t know,_ Clem cried, and if he could shrug, he would have. _That’s why I need you. You can drive, and you know places. Where would you go to look for something for her?_

Crowley thought about it. Then he grinned. “I know a place.” He sat up, shuffling Clem to his lap. “Did you want to change now, or wait until we get there?”

_Oh…I guess I should do it now,_ Clem said unhappily, and with a pop, there was a child on Crowley’s lap instead of a snake, a stocky child with red ringlets and round rosy cheeks. He looked up at Crowley with fully yellow eyes and sighed. “Azirafather already has a coat and boots in the closet my size, because Junior’s or Angelica’s wouldn’t fit.”

“Well, let’s get bundled up and go,” Crowley said, but Clem made no motion to move. He bit his lip. Crowley did his level best to not implode from how specifically adorable it was on Clem’s specific face. He was expressive as a snake, but as a person, everything was written all over his face and body language, just like someone else he could mention.

“There’s something else,” Clem said, and Crowley raised his eyebrows.

They made it to the nearest department store with little issue. Crowley got out, went to the boot of the Bentley, and pulled out a child-sized wheelchair. There had been some small arguing about the aesthetics of the wheelchair, because when it was first envisioned, Crowley had defaulted to black. After some negotiation, it was now yellow, with cartoonish red and orange flame decals climbing up the frame. Crowley respected a person who knew what they wanted even if it wasn’t anything he himself would have chosen (that was okay; the chair wasn’t for him anyway). He unfolded it before opening Clem’s door. Clem wobbled into the chair, and Crowley fussed over his foot placement and his lap blanket (pilfered from the huge basket of blankets in the living room, of course).

“Ready?” Crowley asked, and, similarly shaded, Clem looked up and nodded. “You tell me when you want to leave, and we’ll go straight home. Alright?”

“Alright,” Clem said, and folded his gloved hands in his lap as Crowley steered him through the chilly wet parking lot towards the store.

Crowley was used to driving a vehicle that fit in spaces it shouldn’t, so if Clem’s wheelchair had an easier time in the department store than other people’s shopping trolleys, it wasn’t their business, was it? Clem was looking everywhere, his tongue darting out now and then to taste smells and every so often he would give a little wiggle. Crowley grinned. So far, so good. He steered them towards the book section. “How about a new book for Rosa?”

“No,” Clem shook his head. “She likes Azirafather’s books, or books from the library. I want to get her something else.”

“Alright,” Crowley nodded, “what do you think?”

“Well, she likes things that are soft,” Clem said, craning around to look at Crowley, “and things that smell good.”

“The last thing that girl needs is more pillows or plush toys,” Crowley grimaced. “She’s already got enough to build a nest three times over.”

“So something that smells good?” Clem said, and Crowley shrugged. “What things smell good?”

“Oh, all sorts,” Crowley said as they slowly walked through the home goods department, causing a three-trolley pileup in the flatware aisle. “There’s perfume—though I think she’s a little young for that—and soap, and potpourri, and c—” Crowley’s throat closed up on the world “candles” and he coughed to hide it. Absolutely not. The Advent candles were bad enough, never mind that Crowley had already taken care to have a clear discussion with every candle in the house and let them know, in no uncertain terms, what would happen if any of them dared to tip over or catch things on fire which oughtn’t be aflame. “Um. Food. Foods smell good.”

“She likes tea,” Clem said thoughtfully. “Maybe some tea? Something she hasn’t tried before?”

“Sounds good to me,” Crowley said, and steered his son towards the grocery side. The store was bedecked for the holidays, covered in baubles and advertisements and blasting carols over the speaker system, and Clem kept looking around at all of it, at some points craning to the point of nearly falling out of his chair.

“Father?” Clem asked, pointing at a display for candy canes. “What are those?”

“Candy canes,” Crowley said.

“What are they for?”

“Decorating, sometimes,” Crowley shrugged. “Some people put them in their cocoa and make it all pepperminty.”

“Why are they shaped like that?”

“What, like canes?” Crowley combed his memory, coming up blank. “Er. Because.” He scratched his hair. “I don’t recall, spawn, but I’m sure it has something to do with human traditions. They’re around year after year, anyway.”

“Oh.” Clem was silent as they made their way towards the tea section. “Are they part of Christmas?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Crowley shrugged.

“What do they have to do with light?”

“With light?” Crowley bit his lip. He should know this. Six-thousand-year-old demon and he couldn’t remember a single blasted thing about candy canes? “Er.”

“You and Azirafather said the season was about light,” Clem said, and twisted around to look up at Crowley’s face. Crowley realized he had stopped walking. “They don’t look like they’re meant to be candles or light bulbs or anything.”

Crowley stared down at him, then flicked his eyes up, looking for a distraction. “Ah! Here we are, loads and loads of tea. I’m sure your sister hasn’t tried any of this before.” He steered the wheelchair down the aisle, gritting his teeth. A tea hunt was more Aziraphale’s forte than his, but Clem had come to him, so Crowley would just have to do his best. (Well, to that point, Aziraphale would probably have never taken Clem to a department store to find tea in the first place, but they hadn’t known they were going to be looking for tea until they got here, and anyway it wasn’t for Aziraphale, it was for Rosa, who hadn’t had hundreds of years to develop her palate and become as snobbish about tea as he was.)

Clem took his time, peering around and sounding out words and asking Crowley about them. He knew a bit more than he thought he did, but he still found himself floundering when describing the difference between green tea and herbal tea, or what floral notes meant. The longer Clem looked and asked, the more out of his depth Crowley felt, and to his great displeasure, he felt Clem sensing that, because he was talking less and less as they perused the aisle. A lady with an overflowing shopping trolley smiled tiredly as she edged by them, and then another lady talking loudly on her phone with a trolley full of cheap wine and organic vegetables bumped Clem’s wheelchair and glared at Crowley like it was his fault. He hissed, hands clenching the handles of the chair, and thought it would be vile if all that wine turned to vinegar right as she was about to drink it. Truthfully, his first thought was about how she’d look to find herself and her snotty little high heels strung up over a pit of hungry gators, but he was trying to cut back on that sort of thing. Clem shrunk in his chair.

“Father?” he said in a small voice, and Crowley got down on his knees to look Clem in the face. Clem’s eyes peeked over his glasses, full of tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? No, what—don’t you mind that stupid woman, she doesn’t have a brain in her head,” Crowley said, and outside the woman’s stylish four-door sedan found itself with deflated tires. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Clem.”

“I’m taking too long,” Clem said softly. Crowley was getting too old to have his heart crack open in his chest like this. He took Clem’s hands in his.

“You take as long as you need,” he said gently. “Are you doing alright? All people-shaped?” Clem nodded. Crowley squeezed his fingers. “Got anything in mind yet?”

“The…the rose petal tea,” Clem said shyly, pointing at the box in question. “It sounds like her.”

Crowley inspected the box and nodded. “Alright. We’ll get it, then. Just the one box?”

Clem nodded. “What if she doesn’t like it?”

“She will,” Crowley said automatically. “Even if she doesn’t like the taste, she’ll like the tea, because you got it for her. That’s the point.”

“Oh.” Clem considered this. “I think I’m ready to go now, Father.”

“Alright.” Crowley shuffled them through the payment process and bundled Clem back up in preparation for going to the car. The woman with the heels and the horrible manners was currently screaming into her phone at someone while she shivered outside of her locked car and occasionally kicked one of the tires. Crowley tutted. “People these days have no holiday spirit.”

“What does that mean?” Clem asked as Crowley loaded him into the Bentley.

“It means they aren’t nice,” Crowley replied, and booped Clem’s nose. Clem grinned. “Alright, let’s get you home and back snakey.”

“Okay,” Clem nodded. The drive home was quiet, not unusually so, but Crowley found himself mulling over the things he hadn’t had answers for and grimaced at himself for it. How was he expected to make it a good holiday if he didn’t know how to answer the simplest question?

“Father?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we keep the wheelchair?”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded, “if it makes you feel better when you have to be person-shaped, we can keep it forever. Just let me know when you need it.”

“Thank you,” Clem said, and snuggled into his blanket, holding the box of tea inside its grocery bag on his lap. Crowley fought through the lump in his throat. Stupid holidays with their stupid allergies.

“St. Nicholas Eve is a fun one, children,” Aziraphale was saying as Crowley and Clem returned home, the tea miracled into Clem’s room and Clem rolling in on his new wheelchair to show off proudly to the rest. “It’s when—oh, Crowley, you’re back! And Clem! What a handsome wheelchair, my boy!”

Crowley grinned as Clem’s siblings swarmed him, chattering about how cool his chair was while Aziraphale leaned over the small horde and kissed Crowley on the mouth. “Ooh. You’re chilled, dearest.”

“It’s cold out,” Crowley replied. “Alright, spawn, I know it’s a cool chair, but you have to get out of the way, before we run you over.”

“Beep, beep!” Clem cried, and really, how was Crowley supposed to resist driving him around the house chasing his siblings when he went and did a thing like that?

It took a while, but the novelty wore off and Clem slipped back into his scales, and Aziraphale took advantage of the lull in play to recapture his audience, plus two. “As I was telling you all, St. Nicholas Day is dedicated to St. Nicholas, a really generous fellow who helped inspire the tale of Santa Claus, or Father Christmas, as he’s known in this part of the world.”

“Was he one of yours, angel?” Crowley asked as he scooted around the pile of children to get to the kitchen and the kettle.

“He was,” Aziraphale smiled. “Kettle should still be hot, if you want to warm yourself up.”

“One of your what?” Angelica asked.

“Oh, one of the people I helped when I was…erm…well, back in the day,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that he was a lovely man who helped a family when they hadn’t much gold to wed off their daughters by leaving little bags of gold in the girls’ shoes as they dried by the fireplace.”

“Why did the family need gold to get married?” Junior asked.

“I suspect as some sort of dowry, isn’t that right, Azirafather?” Rosa asked. Crowley grinned as he made himself a fresh cup of tea, still able to hear their conversation loud and clear.

“Exactly right, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “In those times, when a girl wanted to get married, her parents had to provide a dowry, a—a sort of present, for the groom. There’s—there’s all kinds of—well, anyway, to the point, these girls were unlucky and had no dowry, so St. Nicholas helped them out, and a lot of other people besides. So, in remembrance for his kind deeds, we leave our shoes out on St. Nicholas Eve, and in the morning, on St. Nicholas Day, there might be gifts inside!”

“Gold?” Junior said hopefully. Crowley didn’t bother to hide his snort as he rejoined the family gathering.

“We don’t need gold, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled, shaking his head.

_But Azirafather, I don’t wear shoes!_ Clem cried. _Will I have to use my boots?_

“You can borrow one of mine, Clem,” Datura offered. Clem thought about this and found it acceptable.

“Alright, my darling ones,” Aziraphale cooed, “it’s getting near dinner time. Go play, and Father and I will call you down when it’s ready.” The children scampered up the stairs (Clem using his basket lift), and Aziraphale took a moment to straighten his sweater before approaching Crowley with a radiant smile. Crowley felt some of the stress from the trip melt off his shoulders. “Did Clem do alright today?”

“He was fine,” Crowley replied, following Aziraphale to the kitchen. “Perfect angel. Asked a lot of questions.” He sipped his tea. “Angel, why are candy canes shaped like that?”

“Candy canes?” Aziraphale frowned. “Don’t you recall? They’re shaped like shepherd’s crooks, to remember the shepherds who were there at the manger and to whom the angels sang in the fields to proclaim the holy birth.”

“Right, right, yeah,” Crowley said, and dumped out his tea. “Right. Shepherds.”

“Oh, you have to hear Angelica and Rosa’s renditions of certain Christmas carols,” Aziraphale giggled as he started peeling potatoes. “I think you’ll quite enjoy them.”

“Mm.” Crowley picked up a knife and started helping. Aziraphale peeled away for two potatoes, then paused.

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

“M’fine,” Crowley said, and after a moment, right on cue, heard from upstairs:

_Serpents we have heard on high…_

He snorted, and Aziraphale laughed, and for the moment, it was okay again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olwen here! Quilly and I love your comments so much. This is the best corner of the GO fandom, it really is. Enjoy the third instalment of our holiday fic!
> 
> Bonus crayon art:

The morning of the sixth saw the children open their doors, clatter down the stairs, and squeal. The shoes they had left by the hearth the night before were filled with woolly socks, candy canes, and chocolate coins.

“What’ve you got?” Junior asked, leaning across two of his siblings to look at Datura’s second shoe in front of Clem.

 _It’s a lumpy bag_ , Clem said, puzzled, flicking his tongue at it cautiously. _I don't understand._

Crowley sauntered into the living room, mug of coffee held in front of his face where he could inhale the scent, as if the steam held caffeine.

“Nice heat pack,” he said, stepping over Clem to fall in limp slow motion onto the sofa. “It's filled with oats or rice or flaxseed or some such thing. You heat them up and they're blissfully warm. They're amazing to curl up with.”

 _That's so much better than socks and chocolate!_ Clem cried.

Angelica was stuffing her feet into the thick socks and wiggling her toes contentedly. “These are sooooo squishy,” she said.

Datura and Junior were already eating their chocolate. Rosa gathered the discarded satin ribbons from her siblings’ socks and rolled them into neat bundles, placing each next to her little hoard. 

“You didn’t get a candy cane,” she observed to Clem. “Would you like mine?”

 _Maybe just a taste?_ As Rosa unwrapped the end of her cane, Crowley said casually, 

“Hey, did you know candy canes are shaped like shepherd’s crooks?”

“What do shepherd’s crooks have to do with light?” Datura asked through a mouthful of chocolate. Crowley closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to forestall a rush of irritation. The children didn't know, he reminded himself. The children had no context. 

“Angel,” he called. There was a noise from the kitchen where Aziraphale was making a big fry up for breakfast. “Angel, you need to explain the Nativity next. That's definitely your bailiwick.”

Clem’s tongue flickered against the end of Rosa’s candy cane.

 _Eugh_ , he said, recoiling. _That’s really strong. No, thank you._

“Pepperminty hot chocolate,” Crowley reminded him. Clem cocked his head to the side and considered the idea.

 _With whipped cream?_ he said. Crowley snorted. _Because if it has whipped cream too, I think I could shift and drink it._

The children had hot chocolate with their breakfast, Aziraphale obligingly putting great dollops of whipped cream on top. They put candy canes in the cups and enjoyed the resulting minty cocoa. True to his word, Clem shifted and had a cup, followed by three soft-boiled eggs that Aziraphale made specially for him. It was rare for Clem to eat with them, and eggs were good for growing snakes, or so Crowley said. Junior helpfully ate the toast soldiers Aziraphale served with the eggs. Everyone knew Clem wouldn't eat them, but apparently Aziraphale was incapable of making soft-boiled eggs without soldiers.

After breakfast the children got refills of cocoa and amused themselves by dipping their peppermint sticks into their mugs and licking them clean. Crowley made a fresh pot of tea and set it in front of Aziraphale.

“There, angel. Now, Nativity.”

“Goodness,” Aziraphale said. “All right. Well, long version or—”

“In the interest of having the tale told before Christmas actually arrives,” Crowley said dryly, “an abbreviated version would be ideal.”

“Right. Just the night of, then.” Aziraphale fussed with milk and sugar and then sat back with his tea. “Miriam and Yoseph were on their way to Bethlehem, to be in Yoseph’s hometown for the coming census. Poor Miriam went into labour and they tried to find a place to stay for the night, but everywhere was booked solid because people had come to be counted for the census. They ended up bedding down in a barn nearby.”

“A _barn?_ ” Datura said.

“Not terribly hygienic,” Rosa said.

“They didn't have much choice,” Aziraphale said. “They were young and scared. Miriam had been told that her baby was going to play a very important role in the world, that God had chosen her to be the mother to the Divine Son, part human, part God.”

“Like Herakles,” Rosa said. Crowley turned his laugh into a throat-clearing sound. Aziraphale looked like he didn't know whether to be shocked, amused, or proud of her for making a connection.

“Not—not like the Greek demigods, my dear. It’s different. Oh, how to put this?”

Crowley crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter, interested in how the angel would explain it.

“God… God had made some terribly drastic decisions in the past, in reaction to choices humanity made. Often they involved wiping out swathes of the population to… to reset things. This time, however, God made a… a sort of peace offering. By creating a man that was half human, half Divine, God created the opportunity for humanity to redeem itself. Unfortunately it would involve that man undergoing intense stress and a sacrifice he really ought not have been made to--”

“Go back to the barn, Azirafather,” Angelica said. “Were there chickens?”

“And horses?” Junior asked.

“Oh, the barn. Of course. There were cows, and donkeys, and sheep. But it was warm and gave shelter from the night, and Yoseph and Miriam were grateful.”

“What about the baby?” Clem said. “What happened to the baby?”

“The baby was born, and they called him Yeshua. They wrapped him up and since they didn't have a bed or cradle for him, they tucked him into a manger. That’s a holder for hay for the animals to eat from.”

“They put him on a plate?” Angelica said, horrified. Crowley didn't even try to disguise his snicker. Aziraphale waved his hand.

“No, no. Think of it as... a rack for hay.”

The children exchanged glances as Aziraphale gulped tea and tried to restore his equilibrium. Crowley discovered that he was enjoying this more than he had expected.

“Meanwhile,” Aziraphale said, “a little ways off, a group of shepherds were keeping an eye on their collective flock of sheep. And from the sky appeared an angel, who announced to them that a child destined to save humanity had just been born, and they could go see him and welcome him to the world. As directions, the angel pointed out a brilliant star in the heavens and told them they would find the child beneath it.”

“Well, that's vague,” said Datura. “Everything’s beneath the stars at night.”

“This was a very... starry star,” Aziraphale said, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. Entertained, Crowley poured another cup of coffee and waited to see how the angel would muddle his way through to the end.

Datura’s expression suggested that they didn't accept that explanation, but they didn't challenge it further.

“So the shepherds trekked to the barn and they found the family, and they gazed upon the child with wonder and hope. Next, three philosophers arrived, having studied the astronomical portents and following that very same star from another kingdom. These wise men were also kings among their people, and they brought very rich gifts to honour the child. One brought gold—”

“A dowry!” exclaimed Junior. Crowley grinned into his mug.

“Er, no, not this time. The gold was meant to demonstrate that they recognized the child's human heritage.”

“What other presents did they give him?” Angelica pressed.

“The second philosopher king gave him frankincense, a very costly resin with a sweet scent that was often burned to honour God. It was meant to reflect the child’s Divine heritage. And the third philosopher king brought myrrh, another costly incense with a bitter scent that was used to honour the dead. This gift showed that the child would have power over the afterlife as well.”

“Those are boring presents,” Junior announced, and his siblings nodded. Aziraphale smiled.

“Well,” he said, “I'm sure his parents made him toys and such once they were settled at home in Nazareth.”

“So animals, shepherds, kings with boring gifts,” Angelica said. “Why is this important?”

Aziraphale sighed.

“My darling, it was and it wasn't. To the family, it was just a baby being born, someone to love and cherish and care for.”

“Like you do for us,” Clem said. Aziraphale blinked and an odd expression came over his face. He looked up over the children's heads at Crowley. Crowley felt a queer tenderness come over him. Babies, brought into physical existence through the force of celestial love. Not that these children would ever parallel the path that Yeshua had trodden, a pawn in some twisted Divine plan. Not if he had anything to do with it. And he had an angel skilled in the use of a flaming sword if Heaven or Hell learned of the children’s existence, too, and decided to somehow classify them alongside the Nephilim.

“That’s it?” Angelica said.

“You asked what shepherds crooks had to do with candy canes,” Crowley reminded her.

“That was Tura.”

“Wait,” Datura said suddenly. “That’s the unbirthday. That's what Christmas celebrates?”

“The Christian festival, yes,” Aziraphale said. “It's often enacted on Christmas Eve by children in little plays nowadays, but it used to be like the old mystery plays, great massive spectacles as a way for people to learn the story, because most people couldn’t read.”

“The _star,”_ Clem blurted out. “That’s the light part of Christmas.”

“Oh—well, actually, it wasn’t the—.” But just like that, all five children were satisfied with their conclusion.

“May we be excused, Azirafather?” Rosa asked. At his nod, all five pushed their chairs back from the table and got up. Three immediately pounded out of the room, while Clem shifted to snake so quickly that it was a blur. As he swept past, Junior hefted his brother’s coils in his arms and pelted after his siblings.

“Well done,” Crowley said. Aziraphale wiped his brow with fluttering fingers.

“It's so difficult trying to explain these things without dropping into human religious shorthand. Or editorializing about the poor man.”

“It's a pity Christmas and the point of Yeshua’s birth don’t make much sense without the knowledge of the crucifixion and resurrection.”

“Let's not cross that bridge till we come to it,” Aziraphale said fervently.

“Nice interpretation of the meaning behind the three magi gifts, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you. It's a somewhat fanciful, but what can you do.”

“Go enjoy a fresh cup of tea in your study and recover, angel. I’ll handle the washing up.”

After Aziraphale had enjoyed a quiet hour or two in his study, there was a knock on his door.

“Enter,” he said, somewhat distractedly, his attention on three different translations of a sixteenth-century text. The door opened slightly.

“Azirafather?” Angelica said. “Can I talk to you?”

“Always, my darling,” he said, turning his chair away from his desk to face her. “Come in. I have a tin of biscuits here, if you’d like some?”

She slipped all the way into the room and closed the door behind her. Coming up to him, she leaned against the arm of his chair and reached her hand into the biscuit tin.

“I need a favour, Azirafather. I mean, I have to ask you for one. It's a special favour. I need help with something but it has to be a secret.”

“Oh, my,” he said, smiling conspiratorially at her. “A secret. What can I do to help?”

Angelica glanced over her shoulder at the closed door, then leaned closer to him.

“I got Anthony in the gift exchange,” she said. “And I have an idea of something to make for him, but I don't know how to do it.”

“Is that what you need my help with, my love?” he said, looking at her dreadfully serious freckled face and feeling a wave of affection for her.

“Yes.” She took a bite of her biscuit and leaned more weight on his chair, kicking a leg behind her rhythmically. “Anthony has been drawing a lot.”

“Has he?”

“Mm-hm. He’s shy about it, though, and doesn't show people. I know cause he’s not as good at being secret as he thinks he is.”

“Ah.”

“And so I wanted to make him a book to do drawings in. What’s that called?”

“A sketchbook?”

“That! Can we do that? You're really good at fixing old books and making them new again. Can we make a book with blank pages for him?”

“That is a lovely idea,” he told her, “and yes, my dear, I can help you make it for him.”

“Thank you, Azirafather!” She threw her arms around him, knocking his spectacles askew. Then she pulled back a bit. “But not right now, okay? Cause that would be suspicious. And Tura wants to build a fort in the orchard with branches we found in the woods.”

“Excellent point,” he said. “Can't have anyone suspecting anything. We’ll arrange a time.”

“Thanks, Azirafather!” she said and turned to go. She got a few steps away before turning back and saying, “Can I have another biscuit?”

“Tell us about another festival,” Datura said as they were sprawled in front of the fire after supper one evening. Tonight Clem was curled up on Crowley’s chest as he lay on the sofa, while Junior sat behind everyone in a corner, hunched over something in his lap. Angelica caught Aziraphale’s eye and nodded meaningfully. Aziraphale smiled at her and winked, then turned to Datura.

“What kind of festival would you like to hear about, my dear? There are so many.”

“Another one about light,” Datura said.

“Well, then. Ah, I have one for you. Saint Lucia. It’s a festival held in Scandinavian countries that honours Saint Lucy, a woman who helped people being persecuted in the third century. She did it secretly, and legend has it that she wore a wreath set with candles to light her way in the dark, because it kept her hands free to carry food and blankets and medicine and the like.”

“A crown of candles sounds dangerous,” Rosa observed, looking up from her book.

“It sounds _awesome_ ,” said Angelica.

“Saint Lucy’s festival used to be closer to the solstice before the calendar was adjusted, so it was another Christian celebration of light. The food associated with Saint Lucia—”

 _Food?_ Clem said, lifting his head.

“—is saffron buns. Saffron is a very dear seasoning, and it makes things yellow. They represent the sun, you see? And the eldest girl of the household dresses in white with a red sash, and wears a wreath with the candles on her head, and serves saffron buns to the household in the morning.”

“Do you know how to make saffron buns?” Rosa said, exchanging a glance with Angelica. Aziraphale blinked.

“I daresay I could do it. It’s just a sweet bread with currants. They make something quite similar in Cornwall called revel buns, I believe.”

“Can we do Saint Lucia?” Angelica said. “ _Please_ , Azirafather?”

“Absolutely not,” Crowley said, sitting up before he was quite aware of it. Clem yelped, falling to his lap. “Crowns with candles, are you mad? Your _hair_.”

“But Father,” Rosa began, startled.

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Crowley repeated, shifting Clem to the sofa and standing up, thrusting his hands in his pockets. He could feel himself making too much of it, but couldn’t stop. It was almost as if he was watching it happen from behind a pane of glass. “It’s too bloody dangerous, and it’s not happening. The end.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but Crowley was turning and heading for the front door. It closed behind him and he stood on the front step in his shirt sleeves, his breath condensing in the cold air as his chest heaved.

Well. That was done. What had come over him? He’d already had words with all the candles in the house to make sure they behaved. Why was this different?

He shivered on the front step, staring at the night sky. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the door opened and Aziraphale stepped out to join him, carrying one of his cardigans. Crowley snorted.

“Think I’m putting on that fashion disaster?”

“I know you are,” Aziraphale replied, holding it out so that the sleeves were accessible, “because you are a shivery snake who is going to listen to me for his own good.”

Grumbling, Crowley thrust his arms into the sleeves of the oatmeal wool sweater. “Fine,” he muttered, wrapping his arms across his chest and pulling the knitted fabric that smelled like the angel closer.

Aziraphale tucked his hand through the crook of Crowley’s arm and looked up at the stars.

“They’re always so particularly brilliant in the cold, aren’t they.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” Crowley said. Why was he being so oppositional?

“Crowley,” the angel said quietly. “Is something bothering you?”

“Me? I’m tickety-boo.”

“Now I know something is up, dear fellow, because you never say tickety-boo and mean it. That’s a cry for help.” 

“I’m not bloody crying for help,” Crowley said in exasperation. “I’m mocking you. I just want the girls to be safe.”

“Thousands of children across Scandinavia and other regions that celebrate it manage to survive the experience,” Aziraphale said. “It’s their first Christmas, Crowley. Let them try new things.”

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” Crowley grumbled.

“There’s another Saint Lucia tradition, you know,” Aziraphale murmured. “Eastern European. They sprinkle grain in a dish of soil and water it. It sprouts, and is green for Christmas Day. It’s the promise that life will return to the land.”

“Were you saving that? Or were you just not going to share it?”

“I didn’t have the opportunity.”

Crowley sighed and leaned the side of his head against the angel’s.

“I’m a prat. Sorry.”

“All’s well,” Aziraphale said. “The girls are arguing about who is the elder.”

“Well, other than Junior, we don’t really know, do we?”

“Perhaps we could suggest one of them do it this year, and the other next year? They could take turns?”

“That’s logic, angel,” Crowley said, disentangling his arm from Aziraphale’s. “Trust me, that doesn't apply in situations involving children.” He shrugged out of the cardigan and thrust it at the angel. “Take it. There’s no way anyone is seeing me in something like that indoors. I’ll lose all credibility and respect among the household.”

On the evening of the twelfth, Aziraphale baked saffron buns, and the children drizzled glaze in zigzags over the tops. They covered them with a tea cloth, and everyone went to bed.

When Crowley got up the next morning, he was met by Clem, who wiggled and said, _Father, come sit on the sofa with me and Tura!_

Crowley sat, keeping himself well in hand, but also alert in case something happened so disaster could be averted. It ended up being an awkward mess of tension inside.

Junior burst out of the kitchen and threw himself over the arm of the sofa. “They’re coming!” he said.

Crowley steeled himself. After a moment a beaming Aziraphale stepped out of the kitchen with a tray full of saffron buns. Crowley blinked, wondering where the girls were, and then he dropped his gaze and saw them.

Two snakes, one white and one black, had tiny wreaths on their heads, with four birthday candles set in each of them, little fluttering red ribbons hanging from the back. They held their heads high and still, balancing the wreaths carefully and proudly as they rippled along the carpet into the center of the living room, leading Aziraphale in.

 _Happy Saint Lucia!_ they chorused.

“Dusty in here, my dear?” Aziraphale said archly.

“Shut up, angel,” said Crowley, gazing at his beautiful daughters, “and bring me one of those blessed buns.”

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quilly here! Prepare yourselves for Shenanigans! Perhaps even some Japes! And, like, some emotional friction or whatever.

Crowley woke up one particularly chilly morning and decided it was time.

“Time for what?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley pulled on his boots and started layering on Aziraphale’s thicker sweaters.

“Time to find a tree,” Crowley replied. “Been long enough, reckon it’s time.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t drag one in at the start of November,” Aziraphale snorted, and reached far into the wardrobe to draw out a thick woolen hat. He fit it snugly over Crowley’s head, laying the flaps flat against his ears, and leaned in to kiss him. “You’re taking the children?”

“As many as want to come,” Crowley replied. “Where’s the axe?”

“The—Crowley,” Aziraphale protested as Crowley grinned and loped into the living area, “Crowley, please be sensible, you can’t just chop down a tree willy-nilly—”

“Not chopping down a tree willy-nilly, I’m chopping down a tree with intent,” Crowley replied, smiling even more widely as his sentence caught the attention of the spawn, still sitting at the breakfast table together, no doubt planning world domination or some other such frivolous thing. “Who wants to come with me and find a Christmas tree?”

 _A Christmas tree?_ Clem asked.

“Why—” Angelica began, and Crowley found he actually had the answer this time, so he forestalled the question with a loud “aha!”

“Because Christmas trees are evergreens, and evergreens symbolize life in the dead of winter, remember?” Crowley beamed. “Besides, it’s one of those pagan traditions that got conflated with Christian religious celebrations, and it’s fun, besides.”

“What do we do with a Christmas tree?” Rosa asked.

“Chop it down,” Crowley said. “Bring it home. Dress it up.”

“Dress it up like what?” Junior asked.

“You’ll see when I bring the decorations up from the basement,” Aziraphale said, and shot Crowley a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. Crowley lived for those kinds of looks. “This is one of those things about Christmas that’s more about the fun than the symbolism, I think. You’ve already seen them around town, children.”

“Oh!” Rosa cried. “They have lights! And twinkly streamers!”

 _Well, there you go, there’s the light thing again,_ Datura said. _Where do you find a Christmas tree, Father?_

“Outside,” Crowley said. “So anyone who doesn’t want legs has to go in the pockets of someone who does.”

“It’s very cold today, my dears,” Aziraphale said as he nursed a new cup of tea and sat at the table. “I think all legs would be safer.”

“I can carry Clem in my coat,” Junior volunteered.

“Mine’s warmer, I’ll do it,” Rosa objected.

 _I could just stay here,_ Clem said softly, burying his nose in his coils in a way they all knew meant embarrassment.

“No one’s making anyone go, but if you want to go, Clem, you can,” Crowley said, and marched for the back door. “I’m leaving in five minutes, so anyone who wants to come had better be on the back porch before then!”

Crowley opened the door and listened as four sets of feet thundered up the stairs. Aziraphale followed him to the back door and gave him a severe look.

“We don’t have an axe, for the record,” Aziraphale said. “I suppose you’re just planning on going to the windbreak and finding one there?”

“Loads of evergreens down there, no one will even miss it,” Crowley said, snapping and manifesting an axe. At Aziraphale’s pursed lips, Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped a covering for the blade into being, as well. “This isn’t my first semi-legal tree acquisition, you know.”

“Just—just make sure the children are out of the way of the blade,” Aziraphale said as Junior barreled by, and Aziraphale caught him by the back of his coat. “You are absolutely not leaving the house in your pajama bottoms, young man, go change at once.”

“Azirafather!” Junior whined, but ran back up the stairs to finish changing.

“It’s all going to be fine,” Crowley promised, and reached out to take Aziraphale’s chin in his hand, tilting his face up. “Promise. Perfect as can be.”

“It doesn’t need to be perfect,” Aziraphale said softly. “So long as everyone is safe and warm and happy, that’s perfection enough.”

Crowley felt there was an undercurrent to this conversation he didn’t want to interact with, so he settled on kissing Aziraphale and waiting a full fifteen minutes for the last of the children to come bumping down the stairs. With Clem tucked down Datura’s front and coiled around their torso, the six of them set off into the back garden, Crowley whistling carols as he slung the axe on his shoulder and the children piping in with their snake versions when applicable. They hopped the low stone wall surrounding the property, giggling.

“Alright, you lot, turn and wave at Azirafather,” Crowley instructed, and the children did as bid, waving like little maniacs at Aziraphale, who was still clutching his teacup and watching them go. “Okay. Let’s go!”

The fields around the cottage were lined with a windbreak of various types of trees, in places deep enough to be considered more forest than mere narrow patch of vegetation, and there were plentiful conifers winking out of the greyish-brown haze of dead branches.

“What makes a good Christmas tree, Father?” Angelica asked as they walked.

“Tall,” Crowley decided, “but not too tall, don’t want to ruin the ceiling. Sturdy. Lots of branches. No bald spots.”

“Bald spots?” Rosa grimaced.

“Spaces where there aren’t branches,” Crowley clarified. “Oh, should make sure it doesn’t have a nest or something in it, either, don’t want to accidentally drag some grumpy little beast back home.”

“The ones at school are plastic,” Angelica said. “Why don’t we get one of those?”

“Not as good,” Crowley said dismissively. “Don’t smell the same.”

“There’s a pink one in the library,” Rosa said thoughtfully. “Maybe next year we can get one for my room?”

Crowley thought about it. Little miniature plastic trees in the kids’ rooms would be very festive, at that. He’d have to run it by Aziraphale, just to watch his angel’s brain explode with all the decorating possibilities.

“Next year, we can talk about it,” Crowley nodded. “Alright, you lot, stay in sight, but fan out. Shout when you see a nice, big, green one.”

After a good half-hour of walking around and debating the merits of trees, Clem and Datura shouted that they’d found it. They weren’t quite in sight, which nearly gave Crowley heart palpitations, but they were making enough of a racket to be easily tracked. He and the other children converged on them, and Crowley whistled. They certainly had found a beauty, a wide-spreading thing that looked fulsome without being too tall—just over Crowley’s own height, actually. He walked around it, inspecting it as the children jabbered about its virtues and vices. Young, naïve things. He would take control from here.

He set the axe down, got very close to the tree, and reached into the branches, running a hand through the fronds. He came back with a small handful of needles broken off in the palm of his glove. He crushed them, releasing the lovely piney scent, and eyed the tree.

“Listen here,” he said, slipping into Yiddish (that, at least, Aziraphale hadn’t started to teach Rosa to understand; Crowley had already made that mistake with Latin and had forded some very awkward questions from her when he came back in from gardening one day). “These children looked long and hard for you, and you’re not going to disappoint them. You’re going to keep your needles and not complain about watering, or there will be _consequences_.” Crowley leaned further into the tree’s space, gratified to see its limbs already starting to shiver. “If I see one shriveled branch, one drooping frond, one _single_ lazy withering needle, I will chop you into firewood and burn you myself. Do we understand each other?” The tree shivered violently, and Crowley stepped back, satisfied. “There, now. This is probably going to hurt a lot.”

He unsheathed the axe, and heard the chorus of gasps behind him.

 _Father, are you going to kill the tree?_ Clem asked. Crowley paused.

“Erm.” He thought fast. “When…when the season’s done, I can. I can come put it back.” He would need Aziraphale’s help with that. Or at least Aziraphale’s help with perpetuating the fiction that he did. No need for the children or the tree to know he wasn’t sure if he could do it or not. “Stand back, you lot, this could get messy.”

Dragging the tree back was a bit more of an ordeal than Crowley was bargaining for, after the exhausting task that was chopping it down. He had definitely not made it through that without a couple of miracles. But as the children saw the house and were given permission to run ahead, Crowley saw Aziraphale come back out and wave and somehow that made the final push to get the blasted thing home go easier. He hoped the stand he’d picked up sometime earlier was on hand, the sooner they got it upright and soaking its base the better.

“It’s enormous,” Aziraphale observed as Crowley made it over the wall and through the garden with it. “Will it fit through the door?”

“One way to find out,” Crowley panted, and Aziraphale took the tree from him, smiling. “I’ll—I’ll get the stand, shall I?”

“If you please,” Aziraphale said, and somehow with five excitable children underfoot, Crowley managed to dig the stand out of their bedroom and brought it out to the living room. Between the two of them, getting the tree set up and screwed in place was no trouble, and when Crowley turned around, there were now three snakes and two children celebrating their victory.

“It’s a beautiful tree, my loves,” Aziraphale said, practically glowing as he stepped back and straightened his jumper. Crowley grinned at him and at the tree, which was performing very well so far. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hat Aziraphale had put on him and peeled off a few sweaters. Maybe going snakey for a bit wasn’t a bad idea, his feet hurt.

“Oh, I have just the thing, somewhere up in storage, I’m sure,” Aziraphale said with a happy wiggle. “They used to decorate these things with candles, you know, children—”

 _Yay! Candles!_ Clem cheered.

Something ugly and furious lashed out under Crowley’s already-overwarm skin, taking control of his mouth before he had a chance to catch up.

“No,” Crowley snarled, turning on his heel and advancing on Aziraphale. “They’ll be too heavy and the whole house will go up, we’re not—no more, Aziraphale, would you bloody _stop_ already?” Then, fighting the immediate wave of shame as Aziraphale’s face morphed from surprised to hurt to crushed, Crowley spun around again and stomped his way to the back garden, not slamming the door behind him but not taking care to close it quietly, either. There were still some things out there he could terrorize until his heart stopped beating quite so fast, he thought, grabbing a trowel with vicious intent and stalking towards the flowerbeds.

Back in the house, three snakes and two children looked carefully between the father that had stormed out and the crestfallen, fidgeting angel dad who hadn’t moved from the spot he’d been shouted at in. No one said anything until Angelica cleared her throat.

 _We should check for bugs,_ she announced, sliding up into the branches of the tree. With a pop, Rosa and Junior followed suit, and once five snakelets were wrapped in the branches and chattering and laughing to each other, Azirafather finally seemed to move, coming into the present moment and smiling, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Mind you don’t break any branches, children, we have to decorate it still,” Azirafather said, and went back to sorting through his boxes of ornaments. Angelica watched him closely, but didn’t see any further signs of distress. She slithered over to get a better view out the window to see if she could see Father, and she could. She watched him shout at the plants with far more vigor than he usually did, and looked up at her siblings, who were watching the two of them, as well.

 _Father is afraid,_ Clem whispered.

 _He doesn’t have to be all snippy about it,_ Junior said with a very snakey frown.

 _Sometimes, when people are afraid, they don’t act logically_ , Rosa replied. _Father will be back to normal soon._

 _What’s he so scared of?_ Junior demanded, though still quietly so as not to attract Azirafather’s attention.

 _It has something to do with candles,_ Angelica said, coiling more securely around her branch. _Candles and fire._

 _Maybe we can ask him?_ Datura suggested. _Or Azirafather?_

“What are you troublemakers whispering about?” Azirafather called, and Angelica and her siblings shared significant looks before continuing their very serious search for insects and insect egg sacs.

 _Found one!_ Junior announced, and then made a horrible retching noise. _Yuck! Not tasty!_

“Anthony Junior, do not put things in your mouth that you don’t know are safe to eat,” Azirafather scolded, coming over to the tree and lifting a writhing Junior out of the branches. “Alright, children, out of the tree, Father and I can make sure it’s bug-free from here.”

 _May we stay in here just a little longer?_ Rosa asked, and Azirafather sighed as Junior finished swallowing the egg sac and shuddered.

“Just a few more minutes,” Azirafather instructed.

It was a while before Father came back inside, but when he did, he burst out laughing at the five of them strung through the tree branches, singing “Jingle Snakes” at the tops of their voices. Angelica was very proud of herself for that one, especially when Father hip-checked Azirafather on his way to the kitchen and said, “Reckon we should let ‘em stay like that, they make perfect garland.”

“Certainly not!” Azirafather protested, and while he still looked uncertain, his smile was back up in his eyes again, so that was something.

Aziraphale was still reeling a little from Crowley’s outburst even after the tree had been decorated with fairy lights and various baubles and ornaments he’d saved over the years. The tree topper had yet to be decided—Crowley had thought himself very amusing by suggesting an angel, and the children were split on whether they wanted a star or a snake up there—but it was a handsome-looking thing, nevertheless. Crowley went to bed almost immediately after the children, dropping an absent kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek on the way out, and Aziraphale knew that normally he would go join him, but…it didn’t feel right, somehow. Not when he kept putting his foot in it and couldn’t quite understand why.

Or, well, he knew why—he just didn’t understand why he, Aziraphale, was having such a hard time avoiding the very obvious pitfall. Crowley hadn’t been right about open flames since the bookshop went up. Aziraphale hadn’t seen it; Crowley had. He hadn’t talked about it, but Aziraphale could imagine it was distressing.

Going to bed felt right out, but Aziraphale’s itchy fingers and restless hands called for him to do something. There was always knitting, or Angelica’s present for Junior, but neither of those things felt quite right. He wandered into the kitchen, looked at the ancient cookbook he’d gotten the saffron buns recipe from, and flipped idly through the pages. They fell open on a specific recipe, and Aziraphale grinned. Of course. The very thing. Humming a rather reptilian rendition of a few of his own favorite carols, he went to work, losing himself in the ingredients and the rolling of dough, the cutting and baking and, when he got adventurous around three AM and miracled a few extra ingredients to his table, the assembly. He left some pieces undone for the children, but it was nice to focus on delicate, fiddly work again as he piped icing and affixed candies.

Crowley doddered into the kitchen around six, just as Aziraphale was putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece, and looped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, pressing his sleep-slack face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Y’didn’t come to bed,” Crowley said.

“I got a bit wrapped up,” Aziraphale said, indicating his masterpiece. Crowley mumbled vaguely word-shaped things and lifted his head. He gave a weak chuckle.

“Course you did,” he said, and nudged Aziraphale’s head with his own. “C’m back t’sleep? For a bit?”

“For a bit,” Aziraphale agreed. Who was he to deny his serpent when he was soft and cuddly for once? (For once being a relative term; Crowley spent every night possible pressed as much against his angel as he could get, a fact his angel well knew, but after an Incident like the one the day before…well. Couldn’t get too complacent, could he?) He let Crowley shuffle him towards their room and spent another miracle getting himself in snuggle-appropriate wear as Crowley bullied him under the covers and wrapped almost entirely around him.

“Couldn’t find you,” Crowley said, falling back asleep almost immediately on the exhale, and Aziraphale held him and let his thoughts drift. It wasn’t until the children’s screams of excitement at the gingerbread house in the kitchen that Aziraphale even realized he’d fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Always check your live trees for critters; my parents' first Christmas together, they got a live tree, my dad found an egg sac and poked it, and their apartment was swarming with baby praying mantises in no time. Yikes.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! As December progresses, more secrets are kept, more activities are planned, and more tension arises as a result...

“I think this is a you problem,” Crowley said, ushering Junior into Aziraphale’s study. Aziraphale took off his glasses. 

“What is that?” he said. 

“Junior needs some help.”

“I want to give Clem a blanket,” Junior informed Aziraphale in a stage whisper. Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged amused glances, and Crowley backed out of the room, closing the door. 

“A blanket?” Az repeated. 

“Yeah. For the present trade.”

“Gift exchange.”

“That. Can you help me?”

Aziraphale pondered for a moment or two. 

“What size were you thinking, dear?”

“Well, I wanted it to be big, but then he got his wheelchair, and now I think a smaller one that he could use with that? It would fit him snakey, too.”

“Capital,” Aziraphale nodded. 

“But I don’t know how I would make one. And I want his name on it.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then said, “Could you please go call your father back in here, Junior?”

Junior obliged by throwing open the door and yelling, “FATHER, AZIRAFATHER WANTS YOU HERE, PLEASE, NOW.”

Crowley showed up a minute later to see Aziraphale holding his glasses in one hand and rubbing the space between his eyebrows with the fingers of the other hand.

“You called?” he inquired with a smirk.

Aziraphale replaced his glasses and gave him a dry look. “Is there some way to write on fabric permanently? There must be.”

“Sure. Fabric markers, fabric paint, all sorts.”

“I imagine the smoother the fabric the better?”

“I’d think so.”

“Right.” Aziraphale turned back to Junior. “We’ll find a fabric that’s cosy, and on a smaller piece of cloth, a smoother one like muslin or some such thing, you can write Clem’s name, and we’ll sew it on. How would that be?”

Junior was already thinking ahead. “If there are markers, can I draw something instead?”

“Whatever you like, my dear.”

“Wicked,” Junior breathed, and ran out of the room. Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Crowley said. “But it’s your fault for naming him after me. Take some of the blame for the fact that he rushes into things before they’re fully thought out.”

“We’ll need to find a fabric shop,” Aziraphale said. Crowley already had his phone out and was typing rapidly with his thumb.

“There’s one about half an hour away. We’ll need a craft or art shop for the markers, too.”

“This is starting to sound like an outing. How will we keep the others occupied?”

“Well, give me a list and Junior and I can go out. We could always order the markers online, though shipping times are getting dicey.”

“Order… online?”

“Never mind, angel. Junior and I have got this covered.”

Two days later Crowley and Junior walked into Aziraphale’s study again, Crowley with a pained look on his face and Junior vibrating with excitement.

“Look, Azirafather!” he said, rushing up to him while opening a bag in his hands. “The blanket stuff I got is _plaid!_ ”

“That’s terribly dashing,” Aziraphale said, throwing Crowley a mirthful glance.

“It’s not tartan,” Junior explained importantly, “it’s plaid. The lady in the shop explained that it’s only tartan if it’s an official pattern. Look, this is black with yellow and orange and red, and it will go with Clem’s yellow chair! And it’s squishy, the lady called it polar fleece! Clem is going to love snuggling in it!”

“That’s quite... vivid,” Aziraphale agreed.

“And we got this cloth for the drawing part, and the markers, too.” Junior bounced in place. “I’m going to go draw, okay?”

“Don’t let Clem see, spawn,” Crowley cautioned. Junior scrunched up his face.

“I forgot.”

“Draw in here,” Aziraphale offered, standing up and moving to clear off one of the other surfaces he worked on. “I’ll trim the fabric to size so you know how much space you have to draw on, and we’ll cut your fleece to blanket size as well.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a little sewing basket. “And then I’ll show you how to sew the tag on.”

“The very picture of domesticity,” Crowley said, stepping further into the room to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek fondly before leaving, closing the door behind him.

  
  


Although he’d scoff at the idea if someone suggested it, Crowley was a picture of domesticity himself with his hands in water a few minutes later, staring out the window as he washed dishes. He was deep in thought about gifts. Specifically, his to Aziraphale, and the utter absence of any inspiration for it.

The problem was that Aziraphale would adore anything Crowley gave him. An antique first-edition book, a new pair of socks, a pot of jam, peace on earth would all receive equally effusive praise and appreciation. It was their first Christmas together like this, and he wanted it to be right. Better. Special.

He didn’t consciously think the word  _perfect_. Because by his very nature, he couldn’t do something perfect, could he. 

Crowley emptied the dishpan and took up a tea towel to dry the dishes, putting each away, then hung the cloth to dry. He wandered around the kitchen, poking at things, moving the sugar bowl two millimeters to the left, doing the sort of tidying that didn’t really need to be done.

He felt aimless. Which was not a terribly comforting thing to be feeling in the leadup to Christmas. Especially with a crowd of family to take care of.

Crowley pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, resting his elbows on it and dropping his head into his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair and pressed his skull between his palms.

The memory of the children wound through the branches of the tree while singing serpentized carols came to him, and he smiled crookedly. The tree was full up on decorations now, but there were always the windows...

He pushed back the chair, and got out a pot and a bag of popcorn kernels. There was a bag of cranberries in the fridge. The children could make garlands to loop across the casements.

Rosa gathered everyone in her room and closed the door.

“We’re going to prepare a surprise for Father and Azirafather,” she announced.

Junior squinted at her, absently rubbing his finger and thumb together to ease the sensitive areas he had pricked over and over with a needle.

“What kind of surprise?” he said.

“A play,” she said. “Azirafather said that children do little plays of the unbirthday story. We’re going to do that.”

“Oooh,” said Datura. “Can we make scenery? And costumes?”

“Sure,” said Rosa. “Now, I’ve been thinking about it, and I think Junior should be Yoseph.”

“As long as I don’t have to talk,” Junior grumbled.

_ Who’s going to be Miriam?_ Clem asked. Everybody looked at one another, bracing for an argument.

“Angelica,” replied Rosa.

“What?” Angelica said, caught off guard.

“Yes.”

“Really?” Angelica looked at her oddly. “Miriam’s kind of important. You… you don’t want to play her?”

“You may have that part,” Rosa said generously.

“Then who are you going to be?” Datura said. Rosa tucked a curl behind her ear and looked serene.

“I am going to be the angel that announces the birth to the shepherds.”

Angelica and Datura exchanged glances, then shrugged.

“Who’s going to be Yeshua?” Angelica said. There was silence.

“Clem,” Junior said, picking at his thumb. “He can curl up in a basket and be the baby on the plate.”

“ _Manger_ ,” Rosa said. “Clem? Is that okay for you?”

_It’s great_ , Clem said, looking relieved. _I can do that_. 

“And I’ll be the shepherd?” Datura said.

“And the kings, and the narrator,” Rosa said. Datura blinked, but didn’t argue.

“All right,” Angelica said, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s do this.”

After dinner, when everyone gathered in the living room before the fire, each doing their own thing, was one of Aziraphale’s favourite times of the day. And now, with the graceful tree sparkling with reflected firelight in the ornaments as well as its own fairy lights, it was even cosier. 

Today Crowley had brought out bowls of popcorn and cranberries and heavy thread, and Aziraphale had cheerfully provided thick needles for each of the children. All five of them sat people-shaped on the rug before the fire, each making a garland with a different pattern. 

“Junior,” Rosa said, “the popcorn’s not for eating.”

“Popcorn is always for eating,” mumbled Clem as he squinted to get his needle through the center of a cranberry. 

“I’m eating the ones that break when I try to string them on the thread,” Datura commented.

“I can always make more, spawn,” Crowley said from where he lay on the sofa, eyes closed, ostensibly asleep. 

Aziraphale looked up from his book and took in his family in the room around him. He felt suffused with affection, his heart full. 

An ember popped in the fireplace, and a couple of the children startled then darted looks at Crowley. Aziraphale felt the warmth in his heart fade to be replaced by anxiety again.

“Bestir yourselves, spawn,” Crowley said as the children dawdled through a second helping of lunch the following day. “I found a pile of skates in the boxroom and I have a feeling that every one of you will find a pair that fits.”

“Skating, Father?” Datura said. 

“Strap knives on the feet and dance on frozen water,” Crowley said. “I have another feeling the pond has miraculously frozen overnight. Put your woollies on and we’ll go see.”

As the children shoved chairs back and got up from the table to dart upstairs, Crowley reached up to tickle Clem where he wrapped around one of the branches standing in the corner. 

“Haven’t forgotten you,” he said. “You can come all snakey in a rucksack lined with blankets, or you can be people-shaped and in your chair. I can put little runners on it and push you around on the ice.”

_The chair sounds fun_ , Clem said cautiously, _but I think I’d be warmer in the rucksack_. 

“Done. I can’t blame you. Warm is good.”

“Just happened to find skates in the boxroom,” murmured Aziraphale, coming into the kitchen to refill his teacup. “Pond miraculously froze overnight. It’s six degrees outside, you rascal.”

“Perfect for skating,” Crowley said. “Not too chilly.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek. 

“Bundle up anyway, my dear.”

“Maybe I won’t on purpose, so you’ll have to warm me up,” Crowley said. 

“Terrible demon,” Aziraphale scolded, producing a basket that he then loaded with half a dozen thermoses filled with piping hot tea that appeared on the counter. 

“I’m a very good demon,” Crowley replied, snaking his arms around Aziraphale from behind and burying his nose in the pale curls. “Taking advantage of an angel’s good nature is peak demonic behaviour.”

The clatter and raised voices of the children began to echo in the hall, and Crowley kissed the back of Aziraphale’s neck before turning to meet them. 

After waving to him, they moved off across the fields with pairs of skates dangling from knotted laces over their shoulders, and Aziraphale watched them go with a bit of an anxious pang. 

How did Crowley do it? How did he know how to get the children excited and involved? He came up with ideas for play seemingly spontaneously and acted on them with enthusiasm, and the children loved it. Aziraphale always felt like he was stumbling, and that he talked too much and bored them. He wasn’t exciting or thrilling the way Crowley was.

He wandered into the living room and looked at the mantel with its piles of evergreen boughs and candles scattered among them. Walking up to it, he eyed the unlit candles, then sighed and put his hands on the mantel, resting his forehead on them. 

How did he keep mistepping? He was an angel. He was supposed to be a being of light and love, bringing peace and comfort. Instead, he couldn’t seem to stop triggering Crowley’s temper. 

Aziraphale lifted his head and turned around, looking at the chairs, sofa, and floor pillows where the family gathered every night. It was a warm, comforting room. And when it was filled with all the people he loved, then it was absolutely the best place on earth. 

Then why did he feel so anxious about it all?

His family meant the world to him. It was a new sensation; Crowley had been the closest thing to family for centuries, and that had been only half-baked for reasons of safety and plausible deniability. Family celebrating together, in genuine love and joy, was foreign to him. Aziraphale had no idea how a family operated normally. Not that theirs was a normal family; far from it. But the house overflowed with love. Was that what made Aziraphale so anxious? 

Some habits were hard to break, he realized with melancholy. He sank into his armchair and stared at the cold hearth without really seeing it, until he heard the whoops and shouts of the children as they neared the house. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some more Snamily being soft, just the thing for a chilly December day! Huge thanks as always to the Wiggleverse community, y'all's comments and excitement fuels us.

Some mornings were made for lazing in bed. Crowley, waking up alone again and trying not to be hurt about it, felt it was one such morning. He could hear the gramophone playing old holiday records in the kitchen while Aziraphale made breakfast, and Crowley had absolutely no desires or ambitions outside of trolling through the YouTube comments section and waiting for his customary morning tea and smooch.

The footsteps that approached the bedroom door were tiny and bare-footed, and Crowley hurriedly made sure he had proper pajamas on before Datura made their way in. The spawn had long made off with some of his older t-shirts for sleepwear, and it looked like Datura had stolen some of Angelica’s athletic shorts to boot. They crawled up into bed and tucked themself into Crowley’s side, under his arm and in optimal position to view his phone screen. He dismissed YouTube and let their clever fingers scroll through his apps before bringing up Amazon.

“What are you up to?” Crowley asked as Datura navigated their way through the app.

“Shopping,” Datura replied. “Got Angelica. Thought she might like some proper football shoes.”

“Huh.” Crowley made a note to see about local leagues when the weather warmed up. An image of the quintessential American Soccer Mom flashed through his head, and he grinned at the thought of getting to embody that persona for a little while. It would be horrible and glorious. He might get the haircut and everything, just to commit to the bit. He shook himself from such deranged fantasies and focused on what his child was looking at. “Those look nice.”

“They’re pukey green,” Datura snorted. “Angelica likes blue. Like these.”

“That pair costs more than my phone,” Crowley objected. “They’ll tear up in a month.”

“Ooh, these have tiger stripes,” Datura pointed. “Black and orange isn’t so bad.”

“Very flash,” Crowley nodded. “Look, they come with blue stripes, too.”

“Let’s get these,” Datura nodded. “Please?”

“I’ll even throw in express shipping,” Crowley promised, and dropped a kiss on the top of their head. “Good eye, spawn.”

“What are you getting Azirafather?” Datura asked as they navigated back to the front page of the app and idly started scrolling. Crowley sighed.

“Dunno.”

“You should get him a lifetime supply of macaroni and cheese,” Datura said definitively, pointing out the listing. Crowley burst out laughing.

“Oh, I should, should I?”

“Yeah. That way, if he doesn’t like it, he can just give it to me!” Datura grinned, and Crowley, overcome with fatherly affection, saw no alternative but to tickle them mercilessly. When they were both breathless and only crying a little bit from laughing, he stopped, letting Datura play with his fingers while he caught his breath.

“Father?”

“Mm?”

“Why are you so afraid of fire?”

Crowley froze. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He coughed.

“Breakfast!” Aziraphale called, and Crowley would have sighed in relief if he only could.

“Go on. Breakfast,” he said gruffly, and nudged Datura towards the door. They looked up at him with big concerned yellow eyes, and he forced a smile. “Before Junior eats it all.”

Datura grimaced and scooted to the edge of the bed, rocketing out of the room as soon as their feet touched the floor. Crowley let out a long, low sigh and rubbed his eyes. Great. Just fantastic.

He lost track of how long he laid there trying to get a handle on himself, but Aziraphale softly kissing his forehead was a nice enough way to come back to reality. He looked through his fingers up at Aziraphale, who smiled back down at him and smoothed his hair back.

“Brought you breakfast,” Aziraphale said gently. Crowley made an affirmative grunting sound, seemingly unable to lift his hands from his face. Aziraphale smiled again and squeezed one of his wrists, then walked away. The door closed quietly behind him. Crowley groaned, roughly rubbing at his face again, and looked over at his bedside table. Breakfast wasn’t all that fancy, but Aziraphale had made a smiley face with his bacon and eggs and Crowley had to kick a few times and keen at the ceiling to recover. He didn’t deserve this. He really didn’t.

Okay. Today was going to be a good day. Crowley ate his breakfast with determination and ran through his mental catalogue of winter traditions, looking for something suitable for everyone, including Aziraphale.

Well. There was always…

Let it not be said that Aziraphale was not a patient angel.

One had to be, when one’s chosen life partner was a demon who insisted on announcing his next harebrained scheme by throwing a snowball at the window directly behind where Aziraphale was standing, mid-explanation to the children on why it was a good idea to let him and Father handle the watering of the Christmas tree (and why tea was not good for the tree, no matter how peaky they thought it was looking).

The children’s laughter and sudden shouts of surprise completely derailed Aziraphale’s train of thought, and he turned around. That morning had been grey, but snowless; it appeared there was now a winter wonderland in their back garden, with one demon grinning maniacally at the window and tossing another snowball between gloved hands.

“Snow!” Angelica cried.

“How?” Aziraphale frowned, and as if Crowley heard him he pointed at the rather large black machine spewing snow set up in a corner of the garden. “Where…?”

“Azirafather, may we go play in it?” Rosa begged, and Aziraphale looked down at the three children and two snakes crowded around his knees, trying to get a better look out the window. Crowley threw another snowball at the glass.

“I think your father is going to break down the window if we don’t,” Aziraphale said primly. “Go on, children. Bundle up.”

Aziraphale waited for the children to get done dressing themselves, putting on his own coat and letting Clem slide up around his shoulders underneath. Once all the rest were outside, Aziraphale joined them, raising an eyebrow at Crowley’s very large pleased-with-himself-aren’t-you-too grin.

“Where did you scrounge up this contraption?” Aziraphale asked.

“Borrowed it,” Crowley replied, already scooping up handfuls of snow to show the children how to make a proper snowball. “Alright, spawn, listen, normally I’d tell you to make sure there’s a rock or an ice chip in the middle, but we don’t want to hurt the house and Azirafather probably doesn’t want to patch up a missing eye—”

Aziraphale watched, with Clem giggling around his neck, as Crowley showed them how to make snowballs, then with a minor miracle increased the snow output from the machine to the point that they had a pretty good snowman going. Aziraphale went back inside to fetch a carrot and to the front walkway for some rocks, and presented his findings to the children as soon as the lumpy head was balanced on top of the slightly-undersized body.

“We should call him something,” Rosa said as she and Angelica patted the snow into place.

“Junior, Jr,” Junior said decisively.

“No, that’s stupid,” Angelica snapped. “I like Olaf.”

“Absolutely not,” Crowley grimaced, and Aziraphale didn’t bother to hide his smile when Angelica and Rosa both voiced their disapproval of his disapproval.

“I think he looks like a Winston,” Datura said, scrounging up some long twigs from the orchard. After some minor debate, Winston was found acceptable.

“He’s missing something,” Junior frowned.

 _Azirafather? May I go see the snowman?_ Clem asked, and Aziraphale nodded, standing to walk over. Clem shifted as they got closer, and he nosed at Aziraphale’s shoulder in a way that let Aziraphale know he was trying to slither down. Aziraphale held out his arm, and Clem wrapped himself around the snowman’s neck. _Oh! It’s cold!_

“That was it,” Angelica laughed. “He needed a Clem scarf.”

“Hang on, I need a picture,” Crowley chortled, digging his phone out of his pocket, and Aziraphale let him take a few before his parental instinct got the better of him and he made Clem climb back up his arm and under his coat.

“There, now,” Aziraphale said, turning back towards the house, “that was all good fun, let’s—”

Something cold and wet impacted the small of his back, and Aziraphale stumbled. He looked down at the small pile of snow behind him, then up at his progeny and partner. Crowley had a look of such wide-eyed innocence it rendered the four fingers being pointed at him completely moot. Aziraphale blinked. Then, with dignity, he snapped Clem’s warmed heating pack and a blanket outside and gently nestled Clem into it, the others watching him silently. Then Aziraphale stood, cracked his neck, and turned.

“My dear,” he said gravely, “I am afraid you’ve declared war.”

The snowball fight that followed included one spectacular cinematic betrayal from Junior, six handfuls of snow shoved down Crowley’s back, one time-out while Rosa finished crying over the snow that got in her eye, one more time-out while Datura got their wind back after being tackled into a snow bank that was not as deep as it looked, and ended with Aziraphale’s utter victory as he slowly creamed a snowball into Crowley’s face and rubbed it into his hair, with Crowley playing dead in his arms (complete with a Shakespearean dying soliloquy). Triumphant, Aziraphale hefted Crowley up in his arms and declared that the king was dead, long live the king, and it was really time for some cocoa and maybe some wind-down time, wasn’t it?

“I’ll put it back tonight, I just wanted to make sure the spawn got some playtime with it,” Crowley promised as he and Aziraphale sat in the living room and watched the children play in the snow again; this time Clem was person-shaped and perfectly content to sit on the ground and build an army of smaller snowmen while his siblings roughhoused around him. Aziraphale had his arm around Crowley’s shoulders and was idly sliding Crowley’s hair through his fingers, another cup of cocoa at his elbow. Crowley, chilled and happy for it, had submitted to being bundled up in blankets and was leaning into Aziraphale’s side with no complaints.

“Where did you even get it?” Aziraphale asked.

“Town Hall,” Crowley replied. “Or. Some town’s hall, anyway. Planning committee. Thing. Lots of places around here do little festivals where they have fake snow, you know.”

“Mm.”

Crowley felt like there was something else he should say, but he nodded off before he could find the right words.

“We have a tree topper!” Angelica announced proudly as she and Rosa marched through the door after their last day of school before the winter holidays.

“Oh?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrow at Crowley, coming in behind them. Crowley beamed at him. He was personally very proud of what the spawn were about to show off. It hadn’t even been his idea.

“Look!” Rosa carefully set her backpack on the table, then drew out her creation. Rather—hers and Angelica’s jointly. Crowley had no idea where they’d found an angel tree topper, but it did bear an uncanny resemblance to Aziraphale, even if the hair was a little long. What Crowley was personally pleased as punch about, and what he saw Aziraphale starting to grin over, was the little modeling clay snake wrapped over the angel’s hands like a banner, black with a red belly and liberally sprinkled with glitter. The snake was a little lumpy and it looked like one of the girls had taken some scissors to the angel’s hair in an attempt to trim it down some, but it didn’t look like a complete nightmare and Crowley adored it.

“I think that’s as good a topper as we’re ever going to get,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale smiled.

“It looks weird,” Junior announced. Datura slapped his arm.

“Next year, you can make one,” Rosa sniffed, and delivered the angel to Aziraphale. “It lights up and everything, we checked.”

“It’s beautiful, darlings,” Aziraphale cooed, and led their horde of spawn to the living room to put the angel in its place of honor.

“Where’d you get an angel?” Datura asked.

“Traded for it,” Angelica replied. “Someone in class said she didn’t want it anymore, it was a present from her gran or something but she didn’t like it.”

“More fool her,” Crowley snorted. “It looks perfect.”

“She says she wants the gingerbread recipe, by the way, Azirafather,” Rosa said as Aziraphale finished affixing the angel to the tree. “That’s what we traded for it, the last of our gingerbread.”

“You’re more than welcome to copy the recipe for her,” Aziraphale said absently, making sure all the plugs were in their requisite places. The angel lit up, and the glitter on the snake sparkled, and Aziraphale stood back with his hands on his hips. Crowley joined him, ruffling Angelica’s hair as he passed. “There, now. That’s very handsome, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous,” Crowley said, looking at Aziraphale, and grinned when Aziraphale noticed and flushed. “Alright, spawn, go play, we’ll call you down when it’s time for dinner.”

Crowley had a feeling the kids were planning something, but any active thought about it was chased to the back of his mind during dinner preparation—there was a lot of casual touching, hip-checking and hands lingering on passed utensils and the like. Aziraphale wasn’t subtle in the least about the looks he kept sending Crowley’s way from beneath his lashes, the gentle little smiles and one decidedly more wicked smirk when Crowley snuck a bite of the garlic bread Aziraphale was preparing and Aziraphale retaliated by snapping a dish towel across Crowley’s rear. Crowley snatched at the towel, and in the ensuing tussle was completely unbothered by being pinned against the sink, towel still out of reach but hands full of angel hips and satisfied for it.

“You’re being a pest, dearest,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Part of the job description,” Crowley replied, and took advantage of Aziraphale’s eye-roll to kiss him as thoroughly as he would allow in a public area of the house. Something on the stove hissed, and Aziraphale broke away with a concerned little noise.

“Oh, dear, pasta’s boiling over,” he fretted, and returned to fussing at the stove. Crowley let his parting shot be a good pinch of Aziraphale’s rump (let’s see how he liked it) and returned to making the salad.

For a moment—just a little moment, but all the more precious for it—Crowley could pretend life was perfect.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A magical holiday outing turns dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, sorry, everyone. This chapter contains the straw that breaks the camel's back. I got halfway through and started messaging Quilly saying that I didn't want to write the last half, because everything was perfect and I wanted it to stay perfect, just like that, forever. But Stuff Needs To Be Dealt With; they can't simply snap the building tension away.
> 
> In the pro column, though... it's the longest chapter yet?

"Azirafather," Rosa said, peeping around the door of his study. "May I trouble you for a moment of your time?"

"You are never a trouble, my dear," he said, turning around and smiling at her. She slipped all the way into the room and closed the door behind her carefully.

"I've been giving a great deal of thought to what to get for Tura as a Christmas gift," she said.

"Ah?" Aziraphale rummaged for the biscuit tin in his drawer and held it out to her. She took one and nibbled at it, perching in the other chair and crossing her ankles primly.

"I think they'd quite enjoy a book on astronomy."

"That's an excellent idea."

"Only... the little bookshop in the village doesn't have anything like I want to give them."

"They don't?"

"No. I want a big book, with glossy pages and photos of stars and nebulae and galaxies to go with all the words. Like a textbook."

"Quite so." Aziraphale thought for a moment. "I think our likeliest chance of finding something like that is to go into London. Goodness, how will we fit that in? It's only a week till Christmas Day. I'll have to look up train timetables, my dear, we'll get this all worked out."

A desultory knock on the door was followed by Crowley opening it and walking in. He caught himself, seeing both Aziraphale and Rosa looking at him.

"Interrupting?" he said. "I can—”

"No, I think we're done for the moment," Aziraphale said, looking to Rosa. She nodded and slipped off the chair, giving Aziraphale a kiss on the cheek before moving to give Crowley a hug around the waist then leaving.

"That looked serious," Crowley observed, closing the door after her.

"We're trying to find a way to head into London for a shopping trip," Aziraphale said, standing up to meet him. "Time's getting short."

"I might be able to help with that," Crowley said with a grin. Aziraphale shook a finger at him.

"No frivolous—”

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley said, grabbing him and pulling him in for a hug. Aziraphale exhaled and gently rested his forehead on Crowley's shoulder, letting his own arms slide around to embrace him. "I meant I had an idea. And, well—”

"You went ahead and acted on it," Aziraphale said into the angular shoulder, which shifted a bit in a shrugging motion.

"Yes?"

Aziraphale shook his head and stepped back to look at his face, smiling. "What have you done now, you serpent?"

"I bought us tickets to a panto," Crowley said. "Thought we'd make a day of it. Drive up to London, see the Hyde Park Christmas market and the lights in the afternoon, then off to the theatre to boo and cheer a smash-up traditional panto in the evening.”

"Crowley, what fun," Aziraphale said, his heart already leaping at the idea of strolling through the magic of a Christmas market draped with fairy lights, hand in hand with Crowley, drinking hot spiced wine and eating warm sweet buns, watching the children take it all in with wide eyes.

"It won't be the Frost Fair," Crowley said, "but I thought the spawn would enjoy it."

"You're very good to them," Aziraphale said, stepping back into Crowley's embrace. "And to me," he murmured. Crowley made some sort of dismissive scoffing noise, but his arms came up to wrap around Aziraphale snugly. And just for a moment, Aziraphale could almost believe that everything was all right.

"We leave in half an hour," Crowley yelled, pacing back and forth in the living room. "The Bentley will pull out of the drive and if you are not in it, you will miss the adventure of your hitherto brief lives!"

"Okay!" Junior shouted from upstairs. There was an unintelligible noise from Angelica. Rosa would be putting the finishing touches on whatever she was wearing, and Clem wouldn't shift until he absolutely had to. Crowley turned and started heading for the sofa when he heard a creak at the top of the stairs. 

"Father?" Datura said timidly. Cowley turned and looked up.

"Yeah, spawn. I'm here."

"I need... I..."

"C'mere," Crowley said, holding out a hand. Datura let go of the newel post they were clinging to and came slowly down the stairs. They were wearing a lacy skirt that Crowley knew had come from Rosa's closet, and one of Angelica's sweaters.

"Nice togs," he said as Datura put their hand in his. "I like them. What do you need me to do?"

He saw Datura's shoulders relax infinitesimally.

"I don't know what to do with... my hair. It’s usually just down, but—”

“Oh, I can do that," Crowley said, leading them to the rug in front of the hearth. "Sit down. I've got this."

Datura knelt and Crowley sat cross-legged behind them, running his fingers through the auburn shoulder-length hair to gather it back. When it was all lying relatively smoothly, he gathered up a handful by the left temple and began plaiting it towards the back.

"This is nice and simple," he said. "Keeps it out of your face, but looks fancier than a tail.” He did the same on the other side, then laid the ends of the plaits over each other at the back and produced a pretty clip with a silver snake on it to fasten them there. He twirled a few of the unplaited locks at the back around his finger and made loose curls. "There," he said. "Go take a look."

Datura ran off to peek in the mirror in the entryway, then ran back to throw their arms around Crowley's neck.

"I love it, Father. Thank you."

Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of small sunglasses that had tiny sparkles set at the temples.

"An extra bit of bling," he said. Datura tried them on and kissed his cheek.

"They're perfect. Thank you so much!"

They dashed up the stairs, and Crowley shouted, "Don't get into anything new, we leave in fifteen minutes!"

He unfolded his legs and stood up, idly wondering if he had enough time to change into something to further support Datura's sartorial choices.

“Everyone to the front door for boots and coats, now!” Crowley shouted. There was a general rampage to the stairs, led by Datura, who stopped short halfway down, staring at Crowley. Aziraphale was settling a long deep red wool coat on Crowley’s shoulders, and Crowley was arranging the fall of the front over a black wool dress, the skirt of which barely brushed the tops of knee-high boots. The red hair, usually loose, was twisted up into a French roll, with curls artfully framing the cheekbones, and crowned by a glorious large-brimmed black hat angled just so. Crowley glanced up.

“Well,” he said, “are you coming or not?”

Aziraphale smiled past Crowley, buttoning up his own coat and arranging his scarf. The light in Datura’s eyes was almost too bright to look at.

“Spit-spot,” he said. “We have an outing to begin.”

The others pushed past Datura and began dressing. Crowley stepped out of the way, and Datura came up to him almost shyly.

“You look beautiful,” they whispered, and hugged Crowley around the waist.

“So do you,” Crowley said. “We make quite the dangerous pair. London’d better watch out.”

Drawing back, Datura reached out and touched the long shimmering necklace around Crowley’s neck, carefully lifting the large cameo pendant of an angel on a dark blue background, surrounded by scrollwork set with pearls, to see it properly. They glanced up, face shining, and Crowley couldn’t stop himself from lifting a hand and cupping their cheek.

“Love you, spawn,” he said. “Now get moving.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, turning in place to check to make sure all the children were present and accounted for. The lights and music were very inviting, and the smells of the snacks and meals were equally enticing. The children all practically quivered, eyes wide and darting about the Christmas market. “Rosa and I are off on an errand, so you all enjoy yourselves and we’ll meet you at the carousel in half an hour. Don’t overindulge, now, we don’t want sore tummies at the panto, do we? That would be quite the damper.”

Crowley stood behind Clem’s wheelchair, gloved hands resting loosely on the handles, Datura by his side. “I’ve got it, angel,” he said. “Off you go on your secret mission.”

Aziraphale tilted his head under the brim of Crowley’s hat and kissed him. “Save me some gluhwein,” he murmured.

“Hurry back,” Crowley said, feeling a bit lightheaded. He leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale again, and the angel smiled.

“You look divine,” he whispered before stepping back.

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “What have we said about using language like that?” Aziraphale winked and turned, taking Rosa’s hand and moving off through the rows of wooden chalets lit up with fairy lights, weaving their way through the crowd.

“Where first, Father?” Angelica said, her face eager as she tried to see everything at once. Beside her, Junior bounced in place in time with the holiday music.

“Cocoa, of course,” Crowley said, tucking in Clem’s lap blanket more securely then pushing the wheelchair into motion. “Lashings of whipped cream. Extra marshmallows. As many peppermint sticks as you like. It’s what Azirafather would do. You can’t walk through a Christmas market with your hands empty of a hot drink. It’s just not done.”

In the bookshop, after comparing various volumes thoroughly, Rosa found a perfectly spectacular coffee-table book that she judged had an acceptable ratio of sumptuous photos to instructional text.

“Aren’t you buying anything, Azirafather?” Rosa asked as they waited in line to pay for it.

“Not today, darling,” he said. “These are all a bit new for me.”

Once out of the shop Aziraphale discreetly snapped the package to the boot of the car and they headed back to the park to meet the rest of the family. As they moved hand in hand through the rows of stalls, enjoying looking at the wares, Aziraphale paused, his eye caught by something.

“What is it, Azirafather?”

“Do you mind if we take a moment to look at the jewellery, Rosa, my love?”

“Not at all!” Rosa said, and led him toward the little shop that had taken his attention. She began browsing, and Aziraphale looked thoughtfully at a pair of drop earrings set with large marquise-cut yellow diamonds. He dismissed them regretfully; they were pretty, but a bit impractical for daily wear. He looked through more and found a pair of small silver hoop earrings with a black pearl set in each. Those might do.

Then a rack further along he found another set of the hoop earrings, identical except for having white pearls in them instead. He was struck by an idea—a wonderful idea, he felt—and signalled to the shopkeeper to come over.

“Took your time,” Crowley said as Aziraphale and Rosa came up to them. Angelica, Datura, and Junior were clinging to the fence, watching the carousel whirl past, Clem leaning forward in his chair right next to them. “I’m perishing for the want of hot wine, you know.”

“You waited?” Aziraphale said, charmed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not as much fun without you.”

“Can we eat now?” Junior said, clattering up to them.

“No,” Datura objected. “I want to ride the carousel! It’s so pretty! It’s not fair that we’ve been standing here watching it, and don’t get to ride it!”

“May we, Father?” Clem said, looking over his shoulder. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes sparkling.

Crowley immediately said, “Of course.” There was no way he was going to refuse Clem an experience like this if he was asking for it.

“Go get the wine,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll pay and get them on.”

Crowley returned with the wine in time to see Aziraphale effortlessly lift Clem up onto one of the carousel horses. The sun was going down and the fairy lights were warmer, making everything all the more festive. Aziraphale joined him outside the fence with the wheelchair, accepting the cup of mulled wine Crowley passed to him.

“Thank you, my love. I asked if he wanted to sit in the carriage,” he said, smiling as the carousel began to move. “But he insisted on a horse, like the others.”

“He’s brilliant,” Crowley murmured, fumbling in his coat pocket for his phone to video the children going by, waving madly. Aziraphale took Crowley’s cup to make it easier, smiling at him. Crowley looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“What?”

“You’re marvellous, my dear.”

“Stop it.” Crowley returned his gaze to the carousel, staring at it fixedly.

“I should tell you more often.”

“No, you shouldn’t. There’s no reason.”

“There is _every_ reason, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “You are one of the most caring, giving people I have ever met. No, scratch that, you _are_ the most caring, giving being I’ve ever met, and I am an angel, so you have to accept my authority in this matter.”

“I don’t think much of that authority,” Crowley said, swiping away the camera and pocketing the phone again. “You consort with demons.”

“ _A_ demon.” Aziraphale held Crowley’s cup of wine out to him, and when he took it, Aziraphale reached for his other hand and raised it to his lips, holding Crowley’s eyes with his. “One very specific demon.”

“NO KISSING!” Angelica shrieked from the carousel as the children went past.

“Quick,” Aziraphale said, “we have at least fifteen seconds before they come around again.”

They both tasted of spiced wine.

Next up was food. The children ate churros, crepes, fish and chips, and anything else that caught their eyes. Datura found a place selling cups of macaroni cheese and Crowley bought them a double serving. When they all were full, Aziraphale handed out pocket money and told the children they could buy whatever they liked, as long as they stayed together and didn’t leave the row of shops they were currently in. They’d meet them at the end of the row. Angelica grabbed Clem’s wheelchair and the children ran off.

“We should put GPS trackers on them,” Crowley said idly, watching them go.

“What?”

“Never mind.” Crowley slipped his arm through Aziraphale’s. “What’s your pleasure?”

“I’m rather enjoying just wandering with you, drinking hot wine and watching the children discover things,” Aziraphale said.

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I have.” Aziraphale chuckled. “I finished the children’s meals when they decided they were done. There was a surprising amount of macaroni cheese left in Datura’s cup; what were you thinking, buying that much?”

“You haven’t eaten _properly._ I’m going to buy you one of those ridiculous gourmet brownies, look at them.”

“It’s tempting, darling. But I’d rather have another spiced wine with you.”

“Mr Fell,” Crowley said, “are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Oh, honestly, Crowley. If imbibing alcohol is flirting, then we’ve spent centuries… no, never mind,” Aziraphale said, his face colouring. Crowley looked at him with amusement.

“Angel, we flirted even when we _weren’t_ drinking.”

“Yes yes,” Aziraphale said, waving his hand in the air, his face still rosier than the cool air would indicate. Crowley could see the corners of his mouth struggle, fighting a smile.

“I’ll make you a deal, Mr Fell,” he said. “I’ll have another spiced wine with you, if you let me kiss you first.”

“Scandalous,” Aziraphale said, giving up on trying to suppress the smile. He turned and reached for Crowley, slipping a hand around the back of his neck and drawing him forward. Crowley sighed and closed his eyes, relaxing into the kiss and the feel of Aziraphale’s warm hand.

“Look at the roller coasters,” Junior said, stopping in the middle of the concourse, eyes wide. Rosa looked and shuddered.

“Too high, too fast,” she said. “The carousel was nice.”

“I see a sweet shop!” Angelica said.

“I wonder how they work?” Junior mused. Datura paused and looked back at the roller coasters.

“Some kind of… pulley system?” they said.

“Then how would the cars go all down and around without being pulled off?” Junior said. “They can’t be pulled up the hill from the front.”

“And they’re not self-propelled,” Datura said, thinking.

“Sweets!” Angelica said again loudly. “We’re going over there.”

“Yeah, be right there,” Junior said distractedly. “Tura, d’you think it’s electric?”

“Don’t know.” Datura stared at the closest coaster, observing the rate of ascent, the rate of descent, the looping and corkscrewing. Their fingers twitched, wishing for tools and access to the mechanism powering the ride.

“C’mon,” Junior said. “We can go all the way to the end of the row. Closer would be better to see it.”

Datura followed Junior slowly, trying to puzzle out how it worked. It would be easier if it weren’t dark; the neon lights and twinkling decorations made it very difficult to see the structure of the ride. Junior was right up against the iron park fence, staring at the scaffolding, listening to the thundering rattle as the cars tore past. Datura looked over their shoulder at where the others had gone, then crossed the walkway and joined Junior at the fence.

“It’s brilliant,” Junior breathed, staring at it. They stood watching for a few minutes, then Datura stirred.

“We’d better join the others,” they said. “Father and Azirafather will be looking for us all soon.”

“Just another minute,” Junior said absently. Datura looked over their shoulder again, and when they turned back Junior had dropped to the ground in snake form and was slithering under the fence.

“Anthony!” they hissed, darting their eyes around to make sure no one had seen. “What are you doing?”

_I’ll be quick, I promise. I just have to get closer._

“No!” Datura hissed. “Get back here!”

Junior didn’t answer, and vanished into the shadows toward the coaster.

Datura had microseconds in which to make a decision. Running back to the others and finding their fathers would mean leaving Anthony alone, which sounded like a really bad idea. But then, staying with him was a different kind of terrible plan.

“Can’t win,” Datura sighed, and popped into snake form, slithering quickly after their brother. At least they’d be able to argue that staying with Anthony had been a choice to try to keep him safe.

Aziraphale and Crowley caught up with the children at the end of the row of shops. Clem’s lap held bags of sweets.

“Good haul! We seem to be missing people,” Crowley said. “They can’t decide what to choose? Is Junior trying to wring the last penny’s worth out of his pocket money?”

“No,” Clem said, visibly upset. “Father, we don’t know where they are.”

“What?” Crowley said sharply.

“”We told them we were going to the sweet shop,” Rosa said, her eyes wide. “They said they’d be there in a moment.”

“But they never came, and they aren’t where we left them,” added Angelica, biting her lower lip.

“Have you any idea where they might have gone instead?” Aziraphale said anxiously, while Crowley drew himself to his full height and cast about over the heads of the crowd with a piercing gaze.

“They were talking about the roller coaster,” Clem said, pointing down the row of shops.

Without a pause Crowley began striding toward the coaster, his coat and skirt snapping in the breeze. Aziraphale took Clem’s wheelchair, Angelica and Rosa crowding close to him on either side, and followed, saying, “I’m sure they’re just beyond the last shop there, we’ll see them in a moment,” but fretting internally.

By the time they caught up with Crowley, he was standing at the fence, holding himself in a way that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since the failed Armageddon, tall and larger than life, bristling with a combination of defence and aggression. The almost feral look of concentration on his face as he turned his head slowly from side to side, his tongue tasting the air, was intimidating.

“That way,” he growled, and dropped into snake form so quickly that the children jumped. He shot into the shadows past the fence, leaving Aziraphale standing there with their daughters clinging to him and Clem pressing himself into his wheelchair so hard that Aziraphale could feel the back of the chair bowing.

“Clem,” he said quietly, “would you like to—”

 _Yes, please, Azirafather,_ was the reply, Clem already back in his snake form.

“Rosa,” he continued in the same tone of voice, “would you please sit in the chair so it doesn’t draw attention? Clem, you can sit on Rosa’s lap.”

 _May I curl inside your coat?_ Clem asked piteously.

“I’m afraid not, my boy,” he said. “It will be very noticeable to passersby, and if Father needs me quickly…”

 _I understand._ Angelica took the bag of sweets, and Rosa picked up Clem and sat in the chair, arranging him on her lap. Angelica spread the lap blanket over Clem, tucking the edges under Rosa’s legs.

“Thank you, children,” Aziraphale said, his eyes on the shadows. Angelica stepped close to him again and took his hand. He pressed it gently and waited, his heart in his throat.

Crowley covered ground rapidly, following the scent of his progeny through stands of shrubs and ornamental trees toward the roller coaster. He blocked out everything except the air that tasted of them, refusing to hear the music, the crowds, the sounds of the rides.

 _Idiot, idiot, idiot,_ he was thinking. _Thought they’d be all right. Should have known there was too much going on. They’re mere infants, for someone’s sake, why did I forget that, how could I have thought this was a good idea, should’ve remembered they have almost no experience with crowds and this much distraction—_

 _Please, Anthony,_ he heard faintly. _Please let’s go back. It’s dark and I don’t know where we are properly, and I just want to be back with everyone else._

Crowley made a sharp turn and streaked in the direction of the voice.

 _Just another minute,_ he heard Junior say, _just one more. I can almost see the—_

 _ANTHONY FELL-CROWLEY JUNIOR,_ he snarled, cutting in front of them and arcing around to trap them. Datura squeaked, and Junior stopped so suddenly that he reared up and almost fell over. _WHAT do you THINK you are DOING?_

 _Father!_ Datura choked out.

If it was possible for a snake to blanch, Junior did it.

Aziraphale’s heart jumped when he saw Crowley stalk out of the dark, Datura at one side and Junior at the other, one of their father’s hands clamped on each shoulder. Datura’s face was tear-streaked, but Junior’s bore an expression Aziraphale had never seen on him before. He hastened forward and lifted Datura over the iron fence, enfolding them in his arms when they fell against him, more tears escaping. Crowley lifted Junior over, his own expression stony, then hopped the fence himself. The beautiful deep red coat caught on one of the points and tore. The hat was gone, and Crowley’s hair was loose.

“Is everyone,” Aziraphale began, then drew back as Crowley glared at him. Crowley gripped Junior’s shoulder with his long fingers again and began walking.

“Car,” he said. “Now. This outing is over.”

Heart thumping, Aziraphale turned the wheelchair and began pushing it after them, Datura crowded against one side of him, Angelica walking silently by his other side.

“I couldn’t leave him alone,” Datura said, sniffing. “I wanted to come find you, but that would have meant—”

“Ssh, my dear,” Aziraphale said soothingly. “I know. It’s all right. It was very brave of you. We’ll… we’ll sort all this out once we’re at home.”

Datura seemed slightly reassured. Aziraphale, however, was anything but. The afternoon had been so lovely, and Crowley had seemed more relaxed with him than he had been in a few weeks. Now, everything was broken again.

Aziraphale felt as if there was something he could have done, somehow, even if he had no clear idea what it could have been; something he had failed to notice or anticipate. Perhaps if they hadn’t been so wrapped up in enjoying one another’s company, they might have been in a better position to keep the children in sight.

Aziraphale didn’t know. What he did know was that it was going to be long, uncomfortable drive back south, and he had no clue how to handle whatever was going to have to come next in terms of disciplining their eldest son. Or how to handle Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Hyde Park Winter Wonderland](https://hydeparkwinterwonderland.com) is a big deal! (The macaroni cheese as one of the street food choices is a real thing, too. XD)
> 
> They didn't get to the panto, but [this is the history](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pantomime). I used to see them as a child, and now my kids enjoy them, too! It's a shame they didn't get there, because Aziraphale and Crowley probably quite relish the whole booing of villains and cheering for the heroes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I got overeager and wrote this immediately after Olwen sent me her draft of the previous chapter last Wednesday so it's been a bit torturous sitting on this for nearly a week. So glad to get to finally share!

“Inside,” Crowley said tersely once the Bentley was back in the drive and turned off. In the back, the children clambered out of the car, and Aziraphale opened his door, but his eyes were on Crowley, who hadn’t stopped strangling the steering wheel the entire drive. Aziraphale had half-expected him to start shouting as soon as they made it into the car, but Crowley’s marked silence even when navigating the M25 for the second time in less than two hours was somehow even more horrible. The children’s fear and discomfort had been palpable. Aziraphale had wanted to say soothing things to them, to let them know it was alright and that they were still loved even if their evening was cut short, but…Aziraphale had only seen Crowley like this a handful of times in their whole acquaintance, none of them very good memories. Aziraphale went to unlock the cottage door and let the children in while Crowley sat in the Bentley, the passenger side door and one of the back doors still wide open.

“Anthony,” Crowley said sharply before the child in question could enter the house. Aziraphale heard Junior’s small squeak and put a hand on his shoulder. He walked Junior back to the car, leaving the cottage door open behind him. Junior stood uncertainly at the open passenger door of the Bentley. Aziraphale unconsciously soothed his son’s shoulder with his thumb. Crowley hissed. Aziraphale stooped and frowned at him. Crowley was still disheveled from their walk back from the roller coaster, his hands still white-knuckle on the steering wheel.

“I’ve got it, Aziraphale,” Crowley snapped. “Go inside.”

“I think I’ll stay, if it’s all the same to you,” Aziraphale said crisply, knowing full well that being confrontational when Crowley was this distressed was a bad move, but also suddenly unwilling to leave Junior to face Crowley alone like this. Crowley hissed again but didn’t argue when Aziraphale guided Junior into the back seat and slid into the passenger seat, keeping an eye on the front door, where four sets of eyes were keeping close watch.

“What…” Crowley began, then grimaced, growled. “Why…no, _what_ were you thinking?”

“Roller coaster,” Junior said, his voice already hoarse like he’d been crying, though his face was still dry. Aziraphale didn’t smile at him, but he did try to find the space between stern and supportive. “N-never seen one.”

“So you thought going off alone in a huge crowd of people was the best idea, did you?” Crowley, who up until then had been glaring at Junior from the rearview mirror, finally turned around, his eyes full-yellow and red-rimmed. “We told you to stay on the row, where we could find you.”

“I just wanted a look—”

“That is _not_ what you were _told_!” Crowley bellowed. Aziraphale’s hand shot out and closed on Crowley’s knee, not gently. Crowley hissed and glared at him, and Aziraphale glared back, and for several moments they had a fierce, silent argument that Aziraphale was determined to win, because Junior may have been in the wrong but he’d be damned if _their child_ looked that frightened on account of the beings meant to be protecting him.

After a tense, tense moment, Crowley threw up his hands, got out of the car, and slammed his door shut, stomping up to the house. The children scattered, and Crowley disappeared inside. Junior’s breath hitched. Aziraphale looked back at him, then got out of the passenger side and knelt by the car.

“We’ll be discussing this in more detail later,” Aziraphale said gently, and Junior nodded, his eyes spilling over. Aziraphale opened his arms, and Junior fell into them, bawling. “There, now, it’s alright. You can’t go off on your own like that without telling us, love. You frightened us both half to death.”

“Just wanted a look,” Junior sobbed into his shoulder. Aziraphale felt a large lump rising in his throat.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale repeated, and held Junior until the worst of the tears passed. When it had faded into hiccups, Aziraphale pulled back, looking Junior in the face with the most serious expression he could muster. “Do not ever leave us like that again, do you understand? Anything could have happened to you and we wouldn’t have known.”

Junior nodded, clearly unable to speak. Aziraphale wiped a fresh tear away and gave him a tired smile. “Go on inside and get ready for bed.”

Aziraphale followed at a sedate pace as Junior rushed towards the house. The children were nowhere to be seen when he made it inside, so he supposed they were all upstairs. The door to his and Crowley’s bedroom was open and the bedroom held no Crowley in it, so Aziraphale checked the next likely place. To his satisfaction, there Crowley was, prowling in the dark back garden, back in his regular clothes and clearly seething. Aziraphale watched him for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders.

“That could have gone better,” Aziraphale said as he stepped out, and knew immediately that was the wrong thing to say (though Aziraphale was fully willing to listen to anyone who felt they knew what the right thing to say was, because Aziraphale surely didn’t know). Crowley’s shoulders, already hunched around his ears, somehow rose further like hackles, and his mouth parted in a fully-formed snarl.

“Sssso sorry to disappoint,” Crowley hissed. “Won’t be happening again.”

“I certainly hope not,” Aziraphale said. “I know he scared us, but really, Crowley—”

“I’m not sssscared,” Crowley spat. “I’m _livid_.”

“Because you were scared,” Aziraphale said. Crowley said some of his favorite ancient swear words and kicked an empty flowerpot so it shattered across the back garden. “Dearest, please calm down, you’re going to scare the children.”

“Already did that, didn’t I,” Crowley fumed. “Dragged them out without thinking, then ruined the whole night, because that’s what I do, that’s what _demonssss_ do—”

“You’re not wrong for being upset or for being scared, Crowley,” Aziraphale argued. “You didn’t ruin anything, you _don’t_ ruin things—”

“I’m _broken_ , Aziraphale,” Crowley shouted, stopping his pacing and standing nose-to-nose with Aziraphale, his shoulders heaving and face scarlet. “And I’m ssssorry if that interferes with your vision of the perfect family. I can’t do it!”

“Darling,” Aziraphale said desperately, feeling like he was losing the tenuous grip he had on the situation, “no one has—we don’t expect—”

“Oh, of course not,” Crowley bit out, “of course not, because no one _expectsssss_ me to be able to—”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s eyes stung. Crowley’s face twisted up even more. He threw his hands up.

“How am I supposed to celebrate light, angel? I Fell.” Crowley pointed at his eyes, which were practically blazing in the darkness. “The light was ripped from my hands and right out of my heart, right out of my soul, and I don’t know if you remember, but I lost my entire world to fire and flame twice over rather recently! Bit hard to be around stupid fire after that, bit hard to be anything but a sssssoul-sucking dark evil _thing_ —”

“You idiot,” Aziraphale cried, “you shine brighter than any of us! Why can’t you see—”

“I thought you’d burned to death!” Crowley roared, grabbing Aziraphale by the lapel and the shoulder. “I drove through miles of flame and lost the second most precious thing in my life! And then,” Crowley’s fingers tightened painfully, but Aziraphale didn’t shake him off, “then they tried to execute you with—with _hellfire_ —”

“And they tried to destroy you with holy water, but you don’t see me ducking inside every time it rains!” Aziraphale shouted back.

They stared at one another for a moment or two.

“Once upon a time,” Crowley said quietly, “you sheltered me from the first raindrops, because we didn’t know if it was holy enough to kill me.”

Another moment.

“And I would do it again. And again. Every time,” Aziraphale whispered, his entire heart in his eyes as he looked at Crowley. He reached up and covered the hand on his shoulder, thumb soothing at the skin, doing his best to convey what he felt through touch. Crowley’s grip loosened. Then his hands retracted entirely, shoving down into his pockets.

“I’m broken,” Crowley said once more, simply, all the rage having evaporated. He took several steps back. “And this family deserves someone who can operate on a normal frequency. I can’t be that person, because I’m flawed beyond repair. It’s too deep. It was too much. I’ve tried. I can’t just forget it; it’s part of me now. I can’t come back from this, Aziraphale.”

And he turned, walking away in the pitch darkness toward the windbreak. Aziraphale raised a hand, about to call out that Crowley wasn’t even wearing a coat, but caught himself. He lowered the hand and stared after the thin, hunched shape, and began twisting his hands together, worrying at his fingers. If Crowley—capable, cool, creative, confident Crowley—felt flawed and unable to give the family what it deserved, then what of Aziraphale himself? He was nowhere near good enough. He dithered, he worried, he needed Crowley’s strength and always had.

He couldn’t do this alone.

Aziraphale didn’t notice the bedroom window on the second floor quietly closing as he stared into the darkness and wept.

_I feel_ , Rosa said, using the “I” statements Aziraphale had taught them to use when discussing or disagreeing, _that Father and Azirafather are both very scared._

 _I feel you’re right,_ Datura agreed.

 _It scares me,_ Clem murmured, pulling his head back into his coils.

Junior and Angelica, sitting back to back, leaning against one another for comfort but each with their arms crossed, said nothing. Very loudly. Rosa adjusted herself to be closer to both Clem and Angelica’s leg.

 _Well… now we know why Father is afraid of candles._ Datura shifted their coils and curled over Clem, reassuring him with their weight.

Junior sniffed and dragged the back of his hand over his face, then dropped into snake form and wove into Angelica’s lap. She offered her arms and he wound up them, so she could lift him up and press him close to her chest, still staring furiously at the wall in front of her.

 _Is…is he going to come back? For Christmas?_ Junior whispered. Angelica’s face buckled. With a pop, she transformed, and together the five of them wound in a knot they hadn’t occupied since they were much smaller. Rosa had read that normal snakes didn’t like this much contact, but they weren’t normal snakes, after all; it was more comforting than all of her stuffed toys at once, having her siblings wound around her like this.

 _Tura? I’m sorry,_ Junior murmured. _I should have listened to you._

 _Yes, you should have,_ Rosa snipped. Junior hissed but without much heat.

 _It’s okay, Junior,_ Datura whispered.

 _Father’s been upset before,_ Angelica said after a while. _He’ll be back._

 _He’s never left like that before,_ Clem fretted. _He thinks he’s broken._

 _He’s not broken,_ Junior said fiercely, though his voice trembled. _He’s brilliant and clever and powerful and the best Father ever._

There was a soft chorus of assent. Rosa flicked Junior’s side with her tongue.

 _Things will be better in the morning,_ Rosa promised. _Let’s sleep._

Five snakelings drifted off to sleep, a large tangle of black scales interwoven with white and all streaked with red.

Father was back in the morning, but things were not better.

Father was wearing his glasses inside. Father had never worn his glasses inside, not since their early days at the bookshop. Rosa smiled at him, but besides a weak flicker of the corner of his mouth, Father didn’t respond. He made his coffee, and he walked back into the conservatory, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t come out for a long time.

Azirafather looked tired. Rosa could tell he was trying to act like everything was normal, but without Father, Azirafather somehow looked small and deflated. Father only entered a room that Azirafather wasn’t in, and if Rosa or one of her siblings was in it, Father would get what he needed and quickly get out again. At some point Rosa heard the Bentley start up and peel out, and it was well after dinner time before it was back.

Azirafather tried. Rosa would definitely give him points for that. He whistled their snakey Christmas carols, and he made their meals and did the washing-up without complaint, and he adjusted the wrapped presents under the tree a few times a day. He showed them how to make sugar cookies and let them decorate some of those. He tucked them into bed every night, and he gave hugs and kisses when they were required of him and a few times when they weren’t.

It was three days before Father left the conservatory or his Bentley. Azirafather had been holed up in his library for a while, and Father came inside the living room where Rosa and her siblings had decided to congregate to mitigate some of the loneliness that had enveloped the house. Father sprawled on the floor and sighed. He took off his glasses, set them on the floor next to him, and indicated the rug in front of him. Rosa closed her book and hopped onto the floor. The rest of her siblings, snakey by the fireplace, slithered up. None of them had felt like having legs or hair or person-sized feelings lately. Rosa would have joined them, but it was hard to hold a book without hands.

“I’m sorry,” Father grunted. “Wasn’t fair to give you all something fun and then take it away.”

 _It’s alright, Father,_ Angelica said.

 _Father, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make everyone so worried,_ Junior cried. Father held out his hands, and Junior crawled into them, coiling up. Father stroked Junior’s scales and sighed.

“Tura, good job on keeping an eye on your brother, that was clever thinking in a no-win situation,” Father said, and Datura flicked their tongue in thanks. “Junior…Junior, I’m sorry I yelled. You didn’t deserve that, even if you did scare the living daylights out of me.”

Junior seemed taken aback. _I’m sorry._

“Next time, get me or Azirafather if you want to see something like that up close, yeah?” Father said, and scratched under Junior’s chin. “Preferably me. Angel dad probably won’t want you so close to the mechanisms.”

 _We’re sorry we keep trying to bring fire inside,_ Clem said, very softly, and Father’s face spasmed. He sighed deeply.

“Oh, spawn,” he said, and transformed. Rosa did, too, and followed her siblings in gathering themselves in the heart of Father’s coils. Father was large, able to wrap around them many times over, and Rosa never felt safer then when ensconced in her father’s dark scales.

 _My problem isn’t the fire,_ Father said. _Or, it is, but—back when the world was ending, your Azirafather…we’d had a row, and the next thing I knew, the bookshop was up in flames, and Azirafather was nowhere to be found. I yelled for him, I looked for him, but he wasn’t anywhere. I’d never not been able to find him before._

 _You’re scared of losing Azirafather again,_ Rosa said quietly. Father hissed, just as quietly.

 _Not just Azirafather, now,_ Father replied. _Got you lot to think of, too. Last thing I want is for any of you to get hurt or go missing. Would…would destroy me all over again. Don’t want to go through it, not ever again._

They sat in companionable silence for a long time.

 _What can we do?_ Angelica asked. _How can we make it better?_

 _It’s not your job to make it better,_ Father said. _It’s a grownup thing. I should be able to make it better myself._

 _It’s okay, Father,_ Datura said. _Sometimes things don’t need fixing. They just need a little adjustment._

 _A little adjustment,_ Father mused. He gave a snakey yawn. _Alright._

The six of them drifted into an afternoon nap that was the best Rosa had had in days.

Father still didn’t come to dinner, even after that.

Junior pushed his food around his plate. He wasn’t all that hungry. Hadn’t been for days, not since Father had reared out of the darkness at the festival like he was about to bite, all fangs and angry yellow eyes. Junior knew he deserved it, and he knew that Father was less angry than he was scared, but it didn’t make it better. Azirafather smiled at Junior a lot, but that didn’t make it better, either. Father had slithered off before Azirafather had come down to start making supper, and it was anyone’s guess as to where he was (Junior’s current bet was the bedroom; neither of them had been in it for days, but maybe Father was finally tired of sleeping in the Bentley or the conservatory).

“We’re celebrating a new tradition tomorrow night, children,” Azirafather said, and Junior perked up from his melancholy thoughts. “I’m going to need your help in the kitchen before it starts.”

“Doing what?” Junior asked. Azirafather grinned.

“You’ll see,” he said, and put another scoop of mashed potatoes on Junior’s plate. “At least have a bite, Junior, it’ll make you feel better.”

Junior still wasn’t that hungry but he ate anyway, just to make Azirafather smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter more than any of the others is a collaboration; Olwen wrote a significant chunk of the fight in a moment of inspiration and I built on it. We are pleased as punch with how it turned out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s talk about the winter solstice.
> 
> Let’s talk about the darkest night of the year, through which one must pass in order to witness the sun rise the next morning.
> 
> Let’s talk about how long that night is, how distant light and hope seem. 
> 
> Let’s talk about how you have to have faith that the sun will rise, that the days will grow longer by a minute, half a minute each day.
> 
> Let’s talk about how that darkness is necessary in order for your faith to be affirmed, in order that the rising of the sun will mean something...

Aziraphale sighed, taking off his glasses and setting them down on his desk. He stared unseeing at the bookcase along the opposite wall.

It had been a long four days. He hadn’t gone so long without speaking to Crowley since before the failed Armageddon, and it hurt. It was like there was a hollow inside him that pricked and ached and burnt all at once. And the melancholy; he thought that if it weren’t for the children, he could have curled up and died from the melancholy alone.

It turned out that once you consciously admitted to your devotion to the being you’d worked alongside for millennia, and slipped into going through life next to one another day in and day out, having that being walk away from you was worse than leaving Eden.

It was like Eden leaving you.

And the argument had been so ridiculous. How had he lost his temper enough to shout back at Crowley? That utterly inane comment about holy water and rain—what had he been thinking? Crowley had actually been _talking_ to him about his emotions and issues, and he’d wrecked it all.

Now, in a house full of children… Aziraphale was lonely. And heartbroken. And at a loss for what to do next. At least that last part wasn’t unusual. But Crowley wouldn’t show up and rescue him this time.

Fighting a new wave of despair, he stood up and left his study. The house was silent, another change from the usual state of affairs. The poor children were walking on eggshells, or whatever the serpentine equivalent might be. He was trying to make things as normal as possible for them, but Crowley loomed so large in everyone’s lives that his absence couldn’t be smoothed over.

He made his way to the bedroom. Neither of them had been in it since the fight, to his knowledge. But right now, Aziraphale felt like he needed a bit of comfort, and curling up under the quilt that perhaps held a vestige of Crowley’s scent might help.

He toed off his shoes, took off his cardigan, and slipped under the covers without folding them back. As he began to lie down on his side, his arms brushed cool scales, and he jumped.

“Good Lord—what is—”

Heart thumping— _Crowley?_ —he peeked under the covers and saw Clem coiled there in the darkness, looking back at him miserably.

“Oh, my dear boy,” he said.

 _I’m sorry, Azirafather_ , he said. _I’ll go._

“No, no, my darling—but why—"

_I was lonely. I miss you and Father._

“I’m right here, my boy,” Aziraphale said, reaching out a hand.

_No. I miss… you and Father. Together._

Aziraphale’s heart, already under strain, felt like it was bursting with despair.

“So do I,” he said. “Oh, so do I, my _very_ dear.”

Clem slithered over to him and coiled against his chest. Aziraphale brought his arms up to cradle him. And although this made him want to utterly fall apart, he allowed himself only a few silent tears as he held Clem.

“What are we doing?” Datura asked as the children crowded into the kitchen.

“We are making latkes and honey balls,” Aziraphale said. “Potato pancakes! It’s the first night of the Jewish festival of Chanukkah, my dears.”

The children helped with stirring together the ingredients that Aziraphale had set out and watched him fry everything, then enjoyed their meal. Aziraphale then herded them into the living room to show them the eight-stemmed candelabra he called a menorah.

“Chanukkah celebrates the rededication of Jerusalem’s Second Temple in the second century BCE after the Hellenic forces of Antiochus IV occupying the temple were driven out. Antiochus had prohibited traditional Jewish practices, you see, and desecrated their temple so they couldn't use it. The Maccabean revolt restored the temple to the Jewish people, who would again be able to worship there. As part of the process to purify the temple after it had been profaned, however, a flame had to burn constantly. However, they discovered that the supply of olive oil for the temple lamp had also been desecrated, and there was only one sealed jar left with enough oil to burn for a single night. Miraculously—“ Aziraphale coughed self-consciously. “—the oil lasted eight days, until a new supply of oil could be prepared, and the temple was successfully rededicated. So another candle on the menorah is lit each night, signifying the miracle successfully completing another day. And the foods we ate were fried in oil, another way to commemorate the miracle.”

“What’s the extra candle above the others in the middle for?” Rosa inquired.

“That’s the shamash. It’s used to light the eight candles. It also stands by to be on duty in case one of the main candles goes out.”

“What does rededicating the temple mean?” Junior asked.

“It means sanctifying it to its original purpose. And part of it included burning an oil lamp menorah and tending the sacred flame.”

 _So it’s another festival of light_ , Clem said.

“Indeed.”

“A lot of these are about keeping lights burning until the sun comes back or the return of something holy or awaited,” Rosa said thoughtfully.

“Well, yes.”

“It’s winter solstice tonight, too,” Datura put in.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “I’d planned to ask… never mind.”

The children looked at one another. Aziraphale looked tired, which was unusual. He was trying so hard to keep things on track through all these holidays.

“Azirafather,” Angelica said, kneeling by his wingback chair. “We love you, you know.”

“I do know that, my darling,” Aziraphale replied, smiling at her. He patted her hands where they rested on the arm of the chair. His smile, Rosa noted, did not reach his eyes.

“How do we celebrate the solstice?” Datura asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Angelica.

“Oh. Well, your fa—we’ve already brought in evergreen boughs and the tree, to symbolize life even in the cold of winter when other living things don’t necessarily show themselves. Traditionally, a fire is kept burning all night to demonstrate faith that the sun will return in the morning, to be light and warmth and safety throughout the longest night. Some people think of it as calling the sun back.”

“Is there anything special about the fire?” Datura said.

“The Yule log,” Aziraphale said. “When houses and larger buildings had fires on all the time for warmth and cooking, a massive log used to be brought in and blessed, then added to the fire. It was supposed to be big enough to burn for all twelve days of Christmas, from Christmas Day until Epiphany, which is technically when the philosopher kings found Yeshua.” He rubbed his forehead wearily. “We… don’t have one. I didn’t have a chance to ask—well. We don’t have one.”

 _But the fire is still special?_ Clem pressed. Aziraphale smiled at him.

“Of course. People often stay awake all night, watching for the first light of dawn.”

“Will we do that?” Junior asked, leaning against the wing of the chair.

“I will,” Aziraphale said softly. “There’s no reason for me to go to bed.”

They were quiet for a moment, all watching the flames dance on the hearth. Rosa looked over her shoulder at the menorah with its single lit candle and the slender shamash companion. Miracles and faith, she thought. The first candle and its helper.

“Bedtime,” Aziraphale said, shifting his weight in preparation for getting to his feet.

“We can do it, Azirafather,” Rosa said. “You’re watching the fire for the longest night.”

“But who will read to you, my loves?”

Rosa leaned over and kissed him. “We’ve got it under control tonight, Azirafather. I love you. Goodnight.”

“But—" Junior began to object, and Rosa stepped on his foot. “Uh—yeah. Control. Goodnight, Azirafather.”

One by one the children kissed him, Clem gently bumping his nose against Aziraphale’s before being carried upstairs by Datura. Aziraphale watched them all quietly go upstairs, mourning the loss of the bedtime routine that allowed him to express his love just a bit more to all the children. He could have used the closeness, the comfort. At the same time, however… he was tired. So tired.

He was tired of pretending that everything was all right. He was drained, worn out by trying to keep cheerful and positive for the children. He was exhausted spiritually, mentally, and emotionally.

And he deeply, dreadfully missed his best friend.

After teeth were brushed and pyjamas donned, Rosa herded everyone into Clem’s room at the end of the hallway, feeling that it was the best location for plotting as it was the furthest from the stairs.

“What is it?” Datura said, wrapping their blanket around their shoulders.

“We have to fix Father and Azirafather,” Angelica said. Rosa nodded.

 _Did you see how sad Azirafather was?_ Clem said.

“This is a terrible thing to happen at this time of year,” Rosa said. “It’s supposed to be about being together, and comfort, and love.”

”’S a terrible thing to happen any time of year, I’d reckon,” Junior said.

“Yes, but this time of year is supposed to be about light and happiness,” Datura said. “I get it. So what are we going to do?”

 _Make them talk!_ Clem said. 

“They can’t talk if they won’t even be in the same room together,” Angelica pointed out.

 _Then we get them in the same place_ , Clem said simply.

“How can we do that?”

Rosa was tapping a finger against her lips. “Azirafather never says no when I invite him to a tea party.”

“You’re not going to give a tea party for them?” scoffed Junior. “They won’t talk in front of you.”

“No,” Datura said, catching on, “but if we invite them to something special with us then leave them alone, they’ll have to talk, right?”

 _I hope so,_ Clem said.

“But they won’t go if they think they’ve both been invited,” Junior said. “So we’ll have to invite them to two different things and trick them.”

“And then we can plan something romantic for after and leave them alone to sort everything out.” Angelica nodded once, very firmly. “All right. How are we going to do this?”

 _Let’s make them dinner,_ Clem said suddenly.

“What?”

_Azirafather has been working so hard to take care of us all on his own. He’s tired. Why don’t we make him dinner, as a thank you for making dinner for us and doing all the baking and treats associated with the festivals he’s teaching us about?_

“Yeah,” Junior said enthusiastically. Rosa shushed him, and he continued at a lower volume. “Azirafather loves food. It’s a really good idea.”

“And after?” Datura said.

“Let’s give them tea in the garden,” Angelica said. “Like a night-time picnic, so they can look at the stars. Father loves to do that.”

“We need to make it extra special, though,” Datura said. “How can we do that?”

 _Has… has anyone thought about making a gift for them?_ Clem said.

They all exchanged glances that ranged from embarrassed to horrified.

“Oh, _no_ ,” Rosa breathed. “I was so caught up in our gift exchange that I forgot about Father and Azirafather.”

“I… I have an idea,” Angelica said slowly. When she paused, her siblings stared at her until Junior made a hurry-up gesture with his hand. “Why don’t we all write them letters telling them how much we love them? And explain why we do? I think they need to know that.”

“We’d need some kind of folder or box to put them in, to present them properly. We can’t just give them a pile of papers,” Rosa said. Angelica chewed on her lower lip.

“I… have an idea for that, too.” She glanced at Junior and sighed. “Hang on a moment.”

She tiptoed out of the room and was back a moment later.

“I made this, with Azirafather,” she said, holding out a small book. “It was going to be Anthony’s gift, for him to draw in.”

“Me?” Junior said, astonished. Then he broke into a smile. “Gel, that’s so cool!”

She grinned shyly at him. “Thanks. But I thought… maybe we could use this for them instead. That way it’s a handmade book they can keep, and all the letters will be together.”

“Are you sure?” Datura said. Angelica nodded.

“Sorry, Anthony,” she said. “I’ll make you another, okay?”

“I can still draw in it,” he said. “I’ll draw something to go with my letter to Father and Azirafather!”

They smiled at each other, eyes bright. 

“I know,” Junior said suddenly. “I can use my gift to—Clem, I made you a blanket, two secs—” He slipped out and back again. “Look, it’s plaid, and I drew a picture of you in your chair on the tag!”

Clem drew closer, and they all admired the drawing Junior had done of Clem in snake form, coiled up on his wheelchair, which was zipping along with flames trailing from the wheels.

_It’s great! Thank you, Anthony!_

“Why don’t we spread this on the ground for them to sit on?” Junior said. Clem nodded eagerly. “I made it smaller than a regular blanket so it wouldn’t drag from your chair. That means they’ll have to sit closer together,” Junior added, winking at Clem, who snickered.

“I have a gift that might help, too,” Rosa said. “Datura, I got you a book on astronomy. Father loves astronomy; why don’t we put it out there for them to look at while they talk about the stars?”

Datura’s face shone. “Rosa, you’re brilliant! Thanks ever so! Yes, it’s a grand idea.”

 _I have a gift that will be perfect,_ Clem said. He slithered over to the corner and tugged a bag out from under a pillow. _I got tea for Rosa. We can brew it and take them the pot to enjoy after dinner._

“Oh, Clem,” Rosa said warmly. She leaned over and booped his nose gently with hers. “Thank you. I love it.”

Datura sighed. “Well, Angelica, I drew your name in the gift exchange. And the present I got for you is… well, it won’t help our plan for Father and Azirafather very much.”

“Why not?” Junior said. Datura sighed again.

“I got her a proper pair of football shoes.”

“YOU DID?” Angelica whisper-shouted. “Tura, you’re amazing!” She tackled her sibling across the circle, throwing her arms around their shoulders in a hug.

“Okay, okay,” Datura laughed, trying to keep their voice down. “I’m glad you like it, but I don’t see how we can use it the way the rest of you are using yours.”

“We’ll use them to hold down two of the corners of the blanket,” Angelica said. Datura laughed again and tugged gently on her braid.

“We have a plan,” Rosa said. “Now we need to write invitations.”

“Can’t we just tell them?” Junior said. Rosa gave him a look.

“Do _you_ want to go into the greenhouse to talk to Father?” she said. Junior paused for a moment, then shook his head.

“You have a point.”

“So, invitations,” Angelica said. “Rosa, you have the best handwriting.”

“I’ll write Azirafather’s,” she said.

“Tura, yours is next best,” Angelica said. “You write Father’s, and we’ll slide it under the greenhouse door.”

 _In the meantime,_ Clem said, _we think about what to write in the book. Let’s keep it in my room, and we’ll each sneak up here at different times tomorrow to write our letters._

They all looked around at one another, satisfied.

“Do you think it’s going to work?” Junior said.

“Miracles happen,” Rosa said. “Oil burns for eight days instead of one. The sun rises after the longest night. We just have to have faith.”

Some time after midnight, Aziraphale took out paper, his favourite fountain pen, and a lap desk. He had so many feelings, and no one to work them out with. It was time to write them down, they way he’d had to do for centuries between the times when he and Crowley had encountered one another.

_You can’t come back from the bookshop fire, you said. I don’t think it’s the fire that you feel you can’t come back from. I think it’s how frightened you are of losing things that are important to you._

_I don’t want you to come back from the pain and anguish of the bookshop fire. I want you to accept it as part of you, and step forward with it. No one can heal and forget, nor indeed should they. Scars form over a healed wound to remind us that it is part of us, from that point on._

_It isn’t overcoming and destroying something from our past that matters. It’s understanding that it’s what contributed to shaping us. And Crowley, my love, my dear, I love how you are shaped. I love that your past has made you the being I love today. If you had not made every one of the choices you did from the moment of your creation, we would not be where we are. I would not have met you. We would not have everything that we possess together. Earth would no longer exist._

_I know we are both afraid to lose one another. Please don’t make a decision like this based on that fear. Together, we can hold one another up. We make one another better versions of ourselves when we are together. I am not perfect, my love, and I know you don’t expect me to be. I wish you understood that I don’t expect you to be perfect, either._

_I love you just as you are._

~~_Please don’t leave me alone ._ ~~

Aziraphale paused in his writing. He stared into the fire, remembering how at loose ends Crowley was when the Dowlings released him from his position as Warlock’s nanny. For a period of six years, Warlock had been the closest thing to family for Crowley; closer even than Aziraphale at the time, though he tried very hard not to feel hurt by the fact.

Family was so important for Crowley. Was it a reaction to being cast out of Heaven, away from God? Was he determined to parent as perfectly as possible to give others the security he felt he’d been denied? Or was it a response to the alienation of Hell, first by abuse and emotional torture and then by being sent to Earth, then only one of his kind to be permanently assigned there?

Either way, family was Crowley’s _thing_.

And now their own family was cracked. Not broken; not shattered. But there were cracks running through it, and Aziraphale didn’t know how to fill them. And he was terrified that because he couldn’t, all the pieces would fall apart and be impossible to fit back together.

He couldn’t keep writing. He couldn’t even begin to put into words his feelings about their family and how much it meant to him.

He stood up, putting the lap desk aside. Holding the letter, Aziraphale closed his eyes and struggled with the sense of ineffectiveness that he could usually contain on a daily basis, but not now. Now he was so close to sinking beneath those waves of inadequacy, of drowning in his fear and the knowledge that he couldn’t keep it all together. The children had changed things between them—for the better, absolutely, but they had also heightened Crowley’s fears about his weaknesses, as well as Aziraphale’s own fears of being not enough and shut out somehow.

Aziraphale’s hands clenched convulsively, and the paper crumpled. He opened his eyes and looked at it. Then slowly, he reached out and placed it in the fire. He watched the lines of ink turn white-hot and spread into grey ash, the paper consumed by licks and snaps of flames akin to those Crowley had battled in the bookshop.

After the paper had dissolved in sparks, indistinguishable from the embers, Aziraphale placed lit candles in every window of the house on the ground floor. The flames weren’t the problem, he knew. Crowley was afraid of what was behind the need for light. He was, to put it bluntly, afraid of being alone in the dark. Aziraphale wanted the candles there to show Crowley that his home would always be lit, be warm, be welcoming, waiting for him.

“Come home, love,” he whispered.

It wouldn’t work. But it was important for Aziraphale to do it regardless. Maybe, just maybe, if he kept his love burning, Crowley would come back, out of the dark.

He had to hope.

One by one, tiny flickering lights appeared in the cottage’s windows. Crowley watched them, miniature twinkles that were almost engulfed by the darkness around and above the cottage. His throat worked for a moment as he swallowed down something painful.

Then he turned and disappeared back into the greenhouse.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my last chapter for this Wiggleverse fic. I'm in denial, because didn't we just start planning this? Weren't there six weeks till Christmas?
> 
> I cannot tell you how much your comments and discussions have meant to us as we have taken the Fell-Crowley family through their first holiday season together. There were many times where someone would post a comment and Quilly and I would giggle to one another backstage, because we knew something you didn't.
> 
> I also want you to know that for every pang of angst you've felt and tear you've shed for the family as they try to muddle through this, we've been there first, sobbing away and hearts being wrenched.
> 
> It has been a wonderful ride for me, and an honour tossing this Wiggleverse ball back and forth with the most excellent Quilly. And it's not over for you yet. It's all in Quilly's hands now; all our hopes for a happy ending rest with her...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Festive Yule, and Happy Holidays to all of you beautiful Wiggleverse peeps! This has been so much fun for Olwen and I to bring you, and I hope the ending lives up to the hype :P Thank you for the comments and the support, they mean the world.

It was a prettily-written invitation that slid under Aziraphale’s study door the day before Christmas Eve. Aziraphale blinked owlishly at it. He had been in something of a fugue state all day; the candles had burned themselves down by sunrise, and as expected there was still no Crowley. Aziraphale had had the energy to make tea and set out dry cereal for the children, and felt perfectly awful about it. He should’ve gotten started on lunch ages ago, but couldn’t seem to make himself move.

But—the invitation. Aziraphale stooped to pick it up, flipping it over to observe its decorated covers. It could only be Rosa’s work, as her cursive, while clumsy, was the best of the children’s handwriting, and she still had stickers left over from her class party favors to decorate the outside with (Angelica’s having served as adhesive for the wrapping on her gift to Junior). The invitation was informing him of his requested presence at a very special dinner that evening, with stargazing to follow. Aziraphale glanced out at the thick iron-grey cloud cover and felt a feeble smile climb his face.

The children cooking unsupervised sounded dangerous, but Aziraphale supposed he didn’t necessarily need to be hovering to make sure they didn’t hurt themselves. Aziraphale checked the time. The invitation said dinner was at six, so he had plenty of time to talk himself into standing up and maybe even changing into a nice jumper. Maybe Crowley would be there. It would be nice to see him even if they still didn’t speak. Aziraphale would take what he could get.

At five o’clock Aziraphale came out of the bedroom after poring over his wardrobe to the smell of salted water burning off the stove; he poked his head into the kitchen and was immediately chastised and told he would ruin the surprise if he stayed, but nothing was on fire and he caught a glimpse of Clem with a whisk held in his tail, which tickled him so much he had to sit down. There was a light in the greenhouse, which was both soothing and heartbreaking. Aziraphale very patiently listened to alarming bangs and shouts from the kitchen until Junior, wearing a t-shirt with a tuxedo printed on the front and flour crusting his hair straight up, came into the living room and bowed.

“Your dinner, sir,” Junior said grandly, and showed Aziraphale to the table, where six very nice place settings were already piled with the children’s offerings—runny macaroni and cheese, overflowing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with such inclusions as marshmallows and what looked suspiciously like kippers in Datura’s, scrambled eggs that were only a little burned, and one chicken nugget with a generous ketchup garnish in the center of each plate. The gourmet in Aziraphale curled up and died. The parent in him swelled with pride. The rational thinker thought he should pour more water into the trash just to make sure the ruined pancakes smoking there didn’t catch fire.

“Only six places?” Aziraphale said lightly, laying a napkin in his lap.

“Angelica’s taking Father his,” Rosa explained, pouring a tall wine glass full of grape juice. “This was more about you, Azirafather.”

Aziraphale felt his heart in his throat.

“You’re always taking care of us, so we’re taking care of you,” Junior explained as Angelica came back inside.

 _Merry Holiday, Azirafather,_ Clem said shyly, curling up on his empty but warmed plate with a wiggle.

“Thank you, my dears,” Aziraphale croaked, then cleared his throat. “Thank you ever so much. This is so thoughtful.”

The food wasn’t too bad; Aziraphale had been to feasts during the Dark Ages, after all.

“Go ahead outside, Azirafather,” Junior urged when the meal was finished. “We’ll do the washing up.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale fretted. “You all already did so much—”

“Trust us, we got this,” Angelica said firmly. “Datura and Rosa already got it all set up out there, you’ll see.”

“Well…if you’re sure,” Aziraphale said, and let himself be herded outside by Datura. It was freezing and overcast, hardly good for stargazing, but Aziraphale’s protests died in his throat when he saw Crowley, standing over a blanket and looking at him with shaded eyes and nervous shoulders.

Aziraphale swallowed hard and took a step.

Crowley had been amused when he received his invitation to a post-dinner stargazing picnic, and impressed when Angelica delivered a plate of food very obviously made by the spawn. It wasn’t half bad, either, though he could’ve done without the chocolate chips in his PBJ. At about seven, Datura came for his dishes, and Rosa came to escort him to the back garden.

“You wait here,” Rosa ordered, standing him next to a blanket spread on the grass. “We’ll be out soon, just washing up.”

“Roger,” Crowley said, looking at the spread. Hold on…this was Clem’s blanket, the one Junior made. And holding down the corners, those were Angelica’s new cleats. There were two books, too, and sitting on top of them, a thermos. Crowley frowned. Clem’s blanket was a little small for him and the children…what were they planning?

The back door opened, and Crowley looked up as Aziraphale was pushed outside by a determined-looking Datura. Aziraphale froze like a deer in headlights, staring at him. Crowley hunched his shoulders despite himself (it was quite cold, after all).

Aziraphale stepped forward hesitantly, like approaching an easily-startled animal, and Crowley hated it. He hated even more how he felt like he himself was about to bolt, like his angel was justified in his caution.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said when they were both standing over the blanket.

“Hi,” Crowley replied. He fidgeted. Then he noticed the children, all snakey, with their tiny heads poking over the windowsill and watching intently. He huffed, amused. “I think we’ve been had.”

“You mean there won’t be any stargazing tonight? Astonishing,” Aziraphale said, looking up at the sky, and Crowley barked a gravelly laugh at the heavy blanket of clouds still overhead. “My d…Crowley. Can we…talk?”

Crowley swallowed hard. “Yeah, angel. We can talk.”

“I assume we’re meant to converse here,” Aziraphale said, sitting primly and properly on the blanket. Crowley joined him, sprawling but doing his best to not get too close. Wouldn’t want to crowd Aziraphale. Aziraphale sighed over something, then reached forward and picked up the thermos. “Oh. This is warm.”

Crowley smelled the fumes of tea as Aziraphale unscrewed the cap, and the familiar floral notes hit him all at once. “That’s…that’s Rosa’s. From Clem.”

“And these are Junior’s and Datura’s,” Aziraphale said, indicating the books and shifting aside the top book, which was blank-covered, and pointing out the second, a beautiful full-color photograph book of the cosmos. “From Angelica and Rosa.”

“Don’t look now, angel, but I think we may have been Gift of the Magi’d,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale laughed, a bit more wetly than Crowley meant for him to. Aziraphale took a deep draught of tea and smacked his lips.

“Oh, that is good,” he said, and held out the thermos to Crowley. They passed the tea back and forth for a bit, then Aziraphale picked up the blank book.

“This is supposed to be a sketchbook,” Aziraphale said, turning it over in his hands. “We made it for Junior to be that, anyway. I wonder…” Crowley put the cap back on the thermos as Aziraphale opened the sketchbook, and heard his sharp intake of breath. “Oh. Oh, Crowley, look.”

Crowley hesitantly leaned into Aziraphale’s space and immediately forgot such discomforts as not speaking for nearly a week at the illustration on the first page. It was clearly Junior’s work, and he had done a large full-color drawing of Crowley and Aziraphale, complete with a multitude of floating hearts and beautifully-shaded wings. Their kid had talent, Crowley thought, unconsciously resting his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder as he shifted closer to show him the pages. On each page was a letter written by a different child, with drawings and illustrations from Junior and a couple of the others scattered in between. They were mostly skimming, at this point, but a few things jumped out—Junior’s emphatic assertion that both of his dads were very cool and very strong, for instance. And Rosa’s logical listing of what she saw as Crowley and Aziraphale’s best parenting traits (topping both lists was how they loved her very much). Angelica claimed she loved most how implicitly and instinctually they trusted each other. Clem’s quiet statement listed their acceptance of each other and himself as well as their joint efforts at never making him feel left out even when he was being difficult (Crowley would personally find whoever had told Clem at any point that he was difficult and end them messily). Datura finished up the book with their simple declaration of love and a drawing that was difficult to decipher at first, but—

“Alpha Centauri,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley had to sit back and cover his face for a moment, because that was exactly what it was—Aziraphale put the book in his lap and drew the astronomy book towards them, flipping through its pages until the appropriate picture surfaced. It was almost exactly what Datura had drawn, though not in as many fanciful colors. He heard Aziraphale’s sniffles and didn’t bother covering up his own.

“I love them so much,” Crowley mumbled into his hands. “How…how did I get so lucky?”

“Don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure it’s because you’re wonderful,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley twisted his fingers up in his hair. There was a moment of silence, and then Aziraphale’s warm hands covered his, coaxing his grip loose and eventually bundling them up in their embrace. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but I’m not in the habit of lying to you, Crowley. Not anymore. Not about this. And…and I hope one day you can forgive me for the times I made you believe otherwise.”

Crowley lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “Already forgotten,” he lied.

Aziraphale squeezed his hands tightly, then peeled one off to tilt Crowley’s face up to look him in the eye. Crowley immediately saw that Aziraphale didn’t buy it. “I mean it,” Aziraphale said gently. “Everything I ever said to you that wasn’t kind, I want you to forget. It wasn’t safe then for me to be honest, but I can be now. And my honest opinion is that you are a wonderful, flawed, imperfect, beautiful person, and I want no one else with me, whether it’s eating at the Ritz or raising a family.”

Crowley’s throat felt tight. He swallowed desperately against it. This was not helped by Aziraphale’s hand cupping his cheek and leaning them forehead-to-forehead, their breaths mingling in puffs of steam.

“I…I couldn’t find you,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale made a soft, sad noise. “In the bookshop. You were gone, and you’ve never been _gone_. I was going to drink myself stupid at the end of the world because you weren’t there. It’s not—it’s not the fire. It isn’t.”

“I know, darling,” Aziraphale said gently. “Oh, my dearest, I know. I know.”

“Couldn’t f-find you,” Crowley sniffed, and let the years-long deluge pour at last, let Aziraphale gather him in as he was so good at doing, let himself be held surrounded by the evidence of their children’s love and devotion, and boo-hooed all over Aziraphale’s shoulder while he trembled and fell apart.

“You…you said you couldn’t come back from it,” Aziraphale said softly in his ear when the worst of the tears had passed. “I don’t think—I don’t think you _have_ to. I think we just…move forward. Accept that it happened, and realize that it didn’t stick, and just…be.” Aziraphale kissed his forehead as Crowley shuddered through another breath. “Our own side, remember?”

“Yeah,” Crowley gasped, nuzzling into his partner, his angel, with his whole body. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley headbutted him gently.

“Do,” he protested. “Shouldn’t have avoided you for so long. Should’ve just come out and said what was bothering me.”

“Which is?”

Crowley chewed his lip. Right. Still had to…right. He took off his sunglasses. He took a deep breath. “I’m not good enough for this family.”

“Why?”

“M’ broken. I said that.”

“Are you? Or are you just…in need of some adjustment?”

Crowley rocked back and stared at Aziraphale, who stared back. “You heard that?”

“It’s not an enormous house, Crowley, of course I did,” Aziraphale said gently. “They’re right, by the way. You were never broken, and what adjustments you need, we can all make. You don’t complain about Clem needing his wheelchair, or being more comfortable as a snake, do you?”

“Of course not,” Crowley scowled, returning to his previous thought about exacting vengeance on the soul who dared to make his sweet son feel inadequate in any way.

“Then what great trouble is it for us to adjust to what you need, too?” Aziraphale said, tracing Crowley’s cheekbone with a knuckle. “We’re a family because of you. We love you dearly, me most of all, if only by dint of doing it longest.” Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley found it in him to smile back. Then something Aziraphale said pinged in his mind, and he frowned.

“Aziraphale this family exists because of you,” Crowley said, and squeezed Aziraphale’s free hand that wasn’t touching his face, “because you love so fiercely and so deeply. Heaven didn’t want either one of us, but Earth does. Our family—it’s of Earth, not anywhere else. Couldn’t have happened anywhere else.” He soothed his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “I love you to the consuming of my entire essence, but your love _creates_. Your love _blesses_. Your love is _holy_ , the way Heaven should have been, the way humans think it is. When they think of Heaven and angels, they think of you, loving and uplifting and inspiring.”

Aziraphale’s smile wavered, but Crowley was fairly confident the tears that threatened it were of the happy variety. “Not just me, dearest.” Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s hand and kissed the knuckles fervently. “They think of you, too—your love is protective and it’s bright and it’s tender, it is so _human_ they had to have learned some of it from you, the demon who gave them the opportunity to choose love in the first place.” Crowley tried to duck into Aziraphale’s shoulder, but Aziraphale only let him hide for a few moments before drawing his face back out, now holding it with both hands and brushing his thumbs under Crowley’s eyes, wiping away the continual wetness. “Your love is—it’s everything I’ve ever had since the beginning. And now I see our children learning it from you, and they love so much, Crowley. They are so in love with the world around them, they want to know it all. And you want to give it to them, to show it to them. I think they love you most of all.”

Crowley frowned again as Aziraphale’s smile and voice turned somewhat wistful, somewhat sad. No, that wouldn’t do. “It’s not a competition, angel—there isn’t a finite amount, you know. They go to you with scraped knees and bad dreams, they want your comfort just as badly as they want me to take them outside and play. I know...I know Heaven was bad for you, maybe worse than it ever was for me—at least Heaven had the decency to throw me out and tell me to get lost to my face rather than just undermining my self-worth for thousands of years—but our family isn’t Heaven. There isn’t suddenly going to be a famine where the kids can only love one of us, or neither of us. And.” Crowley turned his face to press a kiss to the center of one of Aziraphale’s palms and smiled into it, keeping his eyes on Aziraphale’s. “Well, if I haven’t proved it by now, then I need to step up my game, because after six thousand years I hope you at least have an inkling that I care about you.”

“I know.” Aziraphale brushed his thumb over Crowley’s lips. “Tell me again?”

Crowley obliged him in the best way he knew how. It felt good to kiss Aziraphale again, after his stupid self-imposed exile. It wasn’t passionate and it wasn’t urgent—their love had that, of course, but this wasn’t about how hungry they were for each other, this was about how much of Crowley was made up of Aziraphale and vice versa, their very souls twining together as they had done without notice for thousands of years.

“I have something for you,” Crowley murmured against Aziraphale’s mouth. “Bit early, but feels like it’s time.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley noticed he frowned when he pulled back. Then Crowley felt the small spots of extreme cold touching his face, and looked up. His jaw dropped.

“No way,” Crowley breathed. “Angel, is this you?”

“It’s not me,” Aziraphale shook his head. “I rather thought it was you.”

“Not me,” Crowley shook his head, and he watched in awe at the tiny white flakes descending from the sky. “Brilliant.”

“Oh, we should get these things inside, they’ll be ruined,” Aziraphale fretted, and Crowley hauled himself up and held out a hand to help Aziraphale up. Once they were both standing, Crowley snapped, returning the whole setup to inside the house, and he looked at the window. Four children and one snake were now actively smiling at them, and Junior looked like he was actually cheering. Crowley laughed and waved, and Aziraphale tucked himself into Crowley’s side and waved, as well.

“Gift’s in the conservatory,” Crowley said, and drew his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Are you ready?”

“Always,” Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley steered him towards the project he’d been constructing for the last few days, once his initial wallow was done.

“It’s a bit…I mean, it’s silly,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale squeezed his arm as Crowley went to open up the door.

“If you put effort into it, it’s not silly,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley kissed his temple before drawing the door open and showing Aziraphale inside. To his utter delight, Aziraphale gasped.

The greenhouse was where Crowley’s more delicate plants resided, the ones that couldn’t thrive on fear alone. The regular residents were pushed to the walls, and instead the counters and beds were filled with such plants as Christmas cacti and poinsettias and holly bushes.

“No ivy or mistletoe, I’m not having pests show up and give the rest the wrong idea, but thought these might be nice,” Crowley said, and snapped. Tiny candles he’d spent hours staring at and then planting around the greenhouse lit up with tiny flames, and he took a deep breath. The fire was never the problem, and he knew that, but…

“It’s beautiful, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, and looked slyly up at him. “If I could just make a suggestion?”

Crowley furrowed his brow, but nodded. Aziraphale snapped, and it took a minute to understand, but when Crowley did, he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping Aziraphale up and crowding him against the nearest flat surface to kiss him silly. The candles still fluttered, but it was the slightly-less-warm glow of electric candles instead of real flame that lit up his conservatory.

“Just a small adjustment, really,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, and laughed when Crowley kissed him hard. Unbidden, in a plane just adjacent to this one, the demonic essence of the one known as Crowley and the angelic essence of the one known as Aziraphale flowed around and into each other, twisting together so tightly they couldn’t have been separated if God Herself tried, black feathers checkering with white.

“I love you,” Crowley’s corporeal and incorporeal mouths murmured, flaring like silent starlight across Aziraphale’s skin. “So much.”

“And I love you,” Aziraphale whispered back like delicate curls of fragrant smoke filling Crowley’s spirit. “My most precious and treasured darling.”

Crowley lost track of how long they’d been in the greenhouse, but it had been a while since they’d merged on such a soul-deep level and that was even before their silly avoidant tiff, so he thought they could be excused from reality for a little while. It had already stopped snowing by the time they left the greenhouse, but there was enough of a dusting in the grass and gathered in the cracks of the house that Crowley thought it was still a white Christmas after all. That night both of them went through the rituals of tucking their children into bed, making sure Clem’s heat lamp was angled just right and all of Rosa’s requisite plush toys had also received goodnight kisses, braiding back Angelica’s hair and settling Junior with a story, giving Datura tight hugs.

 _I’m glad you’re back,_ Clem said sleepily in his room when Crowley went to double-check on him, and Crowley felt Aziraphale’s arms wrap around him from behind as they both beamed at Clem.

“So am I, dearest,” Aziraphale said softly. “Goodnight.”

_Night._

“Reckon I’m ready for bed, too, angel,” Crowley said quietly as they walked back downstairs with their arms around each other.

“Me, too,” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s been a long few days.”

They were almost to the bedroom when Aziraphale paused. “Oh, wait. You gave me my gift early, so I should—oh, go wait in the bedroom, I’ll get it.”

Crowley did as bidden, sinking into the soft mattress with a sigh. He missed this bed. This bed was the only possible thing in the world he would abandon Aziraphale for (though not forever, obviously, no bed, however comfortable, could compare to six thousand years of bickering and companionship). He waited patiently until Aziraphale came in carrying a small wrapped box. He passed it into Crowley’s hands and began changing into his pajamas while Crowley tore into it.

He took the lid off the box and saw a pair of silver hoop earrings nestled in the tissue paper, one set with a white pearl, the other black. He looked up wordlessly at Aziraphale, who smiled.

“Got them at the festival,” Aziraphale said. “I gave Datura the matches. Thought the two of you could have some fun wearing stylish jewelry.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice significantly strangled by his emotions, “they’re beautiful, thank you.” He paused. “Their ears aren’t pierced, though.”

“I thought that could be one thing you could offer them,” Aziraphale said. “The chance to get their ears pierced and share something with you, if they want. Would be a trifle to make them clip-on earrings if they don’t.”

“Yeah,” Crowley croaked, unable to express how perfect that idea was—he’d already gotten all the kids experiences rather than tangible gifts, feeling that it would suit them better (football signups for Angelica, art classes for Junior, a trip to the Globe with Rosa, and a snakey spa day for Clem), and this would be the icing on the cake for Datura’s (a trip to a planetarium and a natural history museum). He put the earrings on his bedside table, then turned to take Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kiss him again. “Happy Christmas, angel.”

“Happy Christmas, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, and laid him down. Crowley yawned despite himself. “Sleep, love.”

Crowley slept sounder than he could ever remember having done before, without a single flame to worry about in the house and with Aziraphale’s incomparable warmth surrounding him. Silent night, indeed.

“Alright, spawn, we’re here,” Crowley said loudly, and Aziraphale smiled into his cocoa mug. The children had insisted they had one surprise left before Christmas Day, and Aziraphale, for one, couldn’t wait to see what it was.

Junior and Datura were industrious about moving large pieces of painted and papered cardboard downstairs from where they had undoubtedly been tucked into someone’s closet, and as the various pieces came together along with certain key toys from Rosa’s room, it dawned on Aziraphale what was about to happen. The final touch was a basket, inside of which was a white-swaddled black snake who looked very pleased with himself as he was carried by his siblings, all of whom were wearing bathrobes and with towels tied around their heads.

Aziraphale let his hand rest on Crowley’s knee as Datura explained the “unbirthday” of Yeshua and darted between being a narrator and being a shepherd in awe of Rosa’s very proper pronouncement, a tinsel halo balanced just so on Rosa’s pale curls. Crowley’s arm rested more fully around Aziraphale’s shoulders as Angelica adopted a perfectly reverent pose beside their makeshift manger and Junior yawned as Rosa’s speech continued. By the time Datura was pretending to be all three wise men, Aziraphale was biting back laughter, his heart so swollen he thought it would surely burst.

“Bravo, children,” Aziraphale applauded when Datura indicated they were done, and Crowley clapped without removing his arms from around Aziraphale, which was awkward but not unpleasantly so. “If you want to change, we should light the next menorah candle soon. It would be a bit awkward to do so in your Nativity costumes, I think.”

“I’m hot,” Junior announced, wrestling free of his towel and bathrobe.

“Did we do okay?” Rosa asked anxiously.

“Best Nativity I’ve ever seen,” Crowley said, and Rosa beamed. Aziraphale and Crowley stayed put on the couch while the children cleaned up their little scene, running the pieces upstairs. Aziraphale took in the living room decorations one more time—the cranberry and popcorn garlands had survived fairly well, and the tree was doing splendidly with Crowley back in the house. Under the tree, the children had re-wrapped their gifts for each other, and Aziraphale counted the various boxes out of habit; there were several boxes under there that were neither the children’s gifts nor Aziraphale’s finished snake sweaters for the rest of the family. He couldn’t wait to see what they were.

“Can we watch the Yule Log tonight, too?” Angelica asked as she came downstairs.

“For a little while,” Aziraphale nodded. “The solstice is already past and you’ll ruin your day tomorrow if you stay up all night, but we can have cocoa after the menorah.”

“Oh, let them live a little, angel,” Crowley admonished, and would have said more, but he was interrupted by giggles from the children. Aziraphale counted four in front of them, and looked around. He happened to catch sight of a sprig of holly being held over their heads by Junior, standing on a chair beside the couch and dangling it from a string held on the end of a large stick. Aziraphale laughed and pointed.

“Oh, dear, I believe we’re at a disadvantage,” he said, and Crowley laughed.

“That’s not mistletoe, spawn, it’s not the same thing.”

“Close enough,” Aziraphale said, and grabbed Crowley’s face to bring it close to his own for kisses. There was no loud pronouncement of how icky grownups kissing was from Angelica, so Aziraphale counted it as a win.

“Call it insurance,” Junior announced, and Crowley burst out laughing so hard he had to bury his face in Aziraphale’s chest to recover.

“I think we’re good, spawn,” Crowley said, wiping his eyes. “Go on, have a seat and Azirafather and I will bring out some popcorn and cocoa.”

The children cheered, and Aziraphale gladly went to the kitchen with Crowley to start making the promised treats. The children began singing halfway through, and Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Listen,” he said, and Aziraphale did. When he realized what he was hearing, he didn’t bother to hide the huge smile on his face.

_And snakes and angels sing, and snakes and angels sing, and snakes and snakes and angels sing!_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful art by Flameraven on Tumblr! Merry Holidays, everyone!
> 
> (The church I grew up in has a version of Joy to the World where it's "saints and angels" instead of "heaven and nature" and I didn't realize it wasn't the more widespread version until I was an adult; "snakes and angels" felt more appropriate than "snakes and nature" in this context :P)

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, we have only a vague idea of what we're doing! That's what makes it so much fun. Because you know, nothing says fun like two people with full-time jobs and extracurriculars going into the Christmas season booked up like mad... like giving ourselves only a few days each week to write a response chapter to what the other wrote.


End file.
